It walked so far away, away because it
was embarrassed at how much of a failure it was
to be dying.
So it was decided on the last day
of the year, or maybe months before,
that it wasn't good enough anymore.
But how could it be so bad
if it could escape on its own
without the needle?
Hair thinning and greying, claws reticulating
and bending, ears becoming
more sensitive and less useful.
I can understand, but
the judgement makes me sick.
So, could it remember
all the nights crawling under a bed
on the hard wood?
And did it know
the boy who held its body
close before its life stopped?
And can it have understood this thing
called love,
as a thought or feeling?
But, most importantly,
did it live to its expectations of success
even when it didn't hunt or reproduce?
I remember.
I know.
I understand.
I lived.
