Thomas. Poem by Kevin East

Thomas cavorting through memories
Of sunnier days.
A hitman that plays
At being a cat.
With attitude
And
The hat he chewed.
Now he purrs in constant dream.

A feline making a beeline
For every scrap of food.
Meant that
Always a scrap ensued.
Old Tom had street cred.
Yet loved his warm bed
On the chair.
Debonair,
Only in sleep.
Yet that one day arrives
When old friends make us weep.
He used all nine lives.
But left a light for us to keep.
Now he purrs in constant dream.