he floats on waves of sleep,
Fingers flexing as he dreams,
his breathing slow and deep,
Slightest movement filters through
and he is half aware
of tiny feet upon the bed;
the slightest pressure there,
Moving softly to his side
to pause beside his hips,
Recognition comes to him,
a smile forms on his lips,
He knows the softly humming purr,
the body held so tight,
So familiar is the weight
that snuggles here each night,
Half awake he reaches out
to gently touch the face,
Fingers touching just a void,
a cold and empty space,
Waking now, his wits return
and knowledge floods his head,
Puss no longer comes to him
for his dear pet is dead,
Sitting upright he can see
the indent by his side,
A trail of pawprints on the bed
the moonlight does not hide,
And then he knows without a doubt
some bonds are meant to stay,
And though dear Puss has travelled on
he has not gone away.
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