A Cat Has Died Poem by James McLain

I called the humane society just the other face
of some whom are.
Promises weren't made I thought they were.
So many cat's the food's enough.
I boil rice and mix it up.
Who ever said nine lives they have
they seem but don't.
Crying her small kittens a half jumbled litter.
I thought the gas chamber was reserved for only people.
I never gave a name to her because,
this day I knew would come.
Answering the phone today as I suspected it,
was from the s.p.c.a.
It cost me ten dollars to pick her body up.
They supplied the gas for free.
I now know that freedom is not free.
I burried the cat next to a rusty old machine.