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There is a sadness in the glen tonight
Old Maggie’s cat had died
He popped his little furry clogs
Oh Lord with me abide. 

No more he’ll go out in the night
To catch the mice and shrews
No more he’ll do his business
In Maggie’s old black shoes.

The cat has gone where all cats go
To that place in the sky
No more he’ll stalk the little birds
With slitted eye, so sly. 

The mice can safely slep tonight
Contented in their bed
No claws will leap out from the dark
Old Maggie’s cat is dead. 

The birds will sing a requiem
To send him on his way
The ball of strings sits all alone
No cat will come to play. 

He died without a whimper
Lets hope he felt no pain
He rests now in his little box
He’ll never mew again. 

His little eyes are open
There’s a question in his eye
Perhaps he’s thinking “Why me?”
“Why did I have to die?” 

He died not from cold or hunger
He was young not old and grey
He was not depressed or suicidal
Yet he’s gone, he’s gone away. 

What happened to the little cat?
Why is little pussy dead?
Big Maggie hit him with a hammer
And smashed in his little head 


© Copyright 2009 J P McMenamin