My Wife's Last Tomcat

My Wife's Last Tomcat
Lowell Wiley

That's my wife’s last Tomcat in the photo there,

Looking as if he was so debonair.

I called that cat a pisser. My daughter’s camera

Worked but a second, and there the cheetah

Chaser lies. If it pleases you, sit and look

I say. He did own the house, floor to nook,

And made himself to home more than I.

Strangers like you he could not horrify

With one glance. But to myself he turned

A steely eye. On my wife’s bed he lay

Like an ornament, still as macramé.

As I passed by from room to room,

He lay feet up, portending doom.

When I sometimes passed him quietly by,

He always gave me that perplexed eye.

Was as if he knew me deep inside,

And knew my temperament belied

The things between us I could not hide.

He was my wife’s lover, par excellence,

But for me he was pure ambivalence.

I think he waited for his comeuppance,

But he began to weaken and grow

Ill. Was then I searched and all aglow

Found a chalky likeness identical

To the last whisker, and so companionable

I set it by her door. As time went by

We continued on, and held our peace

Till my next birthday came. With my increase,

It should have been a joyous joyous time,

But Tomcat George died that day, and tied his life to mine.