GOODNIGHT SWEET PRINCE: Goodnight

Bogey Johnson (March 17, 1995-September 25, 2013)
A.K.A - The Boge-Man, Mr.Blue-Eyes, Boge-ster, The Man.

What a handsome hunk of a cat.
That divine cream color of the Flame Point Siamese,
Those piercing blue eyes,and
The ability to meow-converse with us,
On so many subjects.
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All summer,and into the fall.
Our family attacked your health problems.
Vet after vet visit,
Searching for the magic bullet.
That would shoot down your illness.
After all,
We dealt with just-a-digestive-issue.

With each new remedy.
We hoped..
We prayed.
This would be the answer.
As long as you were happy,
We soldiered through .

The war continued .
The final battle,
Began last Friday.
With the new “fix”

You rallied a bit for 4 days.
Oh, the hope we felt.
Then, you hit that wall of no return.
Your soft “meow” showing your frustration.

Stroking your no-longer-lustrous-fur,
I repeated, “I’m so sorry Bogey”
Your response,
A whispered, “Meow.”
That wrenched all our hearts.

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Boge-Man, I promise to remember
Those games that filled our house with such laughter.

JACK IN THE BOX
The object,
Search for a new hideaway.
Then,the pop-out when we least expect.

INVESTIGATION
Anything new entering the house,
Like a cardboard box from UPS.
Required a jump-in,and
Of course a peek out,
To be sure we were watching
Followed by a song of satisfaction.

THE BEDROOM CHALLENGE
Just hearing the bedspread move from the stand,
You’d enter the room running,
Then take a flying leap onto the bed.
Followed by a burrow under the covers.
Leaving a lump in the middle.

ALWAYS FAMILY ORIENTED
Years after our Snicker Dog died,
I pulled her bed from the cabinet.
With the idea of washing it.
Maybe using it again.
Your feline nose caught her scent,and
For hours you stretched, rolled around and purred.
Needless to say, it never saw the laundry.
________________________________________

Our friend Jack,
Refuses another pet,
Until he’s guaranteed the dog will outlive him.
So he’ll never experience the overwhelming pain.

As an ex-English teacher,
I turn to Tennyson.

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.