Necrokitty Comic Sans
I have good news and bad news
The good news is there is an afterlife
And pets get there too
The bad news is that in the afterlife
There is really mawkish poetry
Dear pet crematorium
Thank you for returning my cat’s ashes
Along with a candle and a white flower
(That was a nice touch)
However – I do have some questions
About the poetry
Dear pet crematorium
Can you please talk me through
The four poems you gave me
Three apparently written by my dead cat
Two of them addressing me as ‘mum’-?
Dear pet crematorium
I am no one’s mum
I’ve had some wild nights in my time
But I do not recall ever
Giving birth to a cat.
I’ve racked my brains
But I think I would remember
Dear pet crematorium
I never knew my cat could speak English
If I’d known she understood me
I’d’ve called her nicer things
Than Munchkin, Fuzzbutt and Bastardface
Dear pet crematorium
Why was she holding out on me all this time?
And are you sure this is from her?
Only I think her scansion would be better
Dear pet crematorium
It hurts that she chose to communicate
From beyond the grave
In Comic Sans
Dear pet crematorium
Why is my dead cat writing
To tell me to be strong?
She knows I’m strong
I can open all the doors and tins
She could only claw at
Dear pet crematorium
YOU DO NOT KNOW ME
YOU DO NOT KNOW MY CAT
All you know about her
Is her name
All you know about me
Is that I used to have a cat
Dear pet crematorium
You probably mean well
But you are out of your depth
Dear pet crematorium
You just brought a Clinton’s card
To a knife fight
That’s right: a knife fight
If you’d known me, or my cat, you’d know:
She was fierce
I remain fierce
And the soft underbelly of our bond
Was something earned
Not everyone gets to pet its perfect fur
Some bastards will get slashed for trying
Our bond was built in claws, swearing,
Grudging mutual respect, and time.
She was a crabby, traumatised old lady,
I was a young idiot
Who didn’t know what I’d taken on
Across four years, four homes, and fourteen different housemates
She unfurled in my care
I grew up in hers
We curled up asleep against each other
-Against the world-
Every night
Dear pet crematorium
Thanks for the suggestion
But I do not need to look for my cat
“In the first ray of sunshine”
Or “in the smile on a baby”
Or “in the clear cool water on a quiet pond”
Dear pet crematorium
Why the fuck would my cat be in a pond?!
Dear pet crematorium
Let’s all stick to our real jobs:
I am no one’s mum
My cat was not a poet
You are not spirit mediums
Dear pet crematorium
Do not put words in my dead cat’s mouth
I paid you to burn her remains
Not do a ventriloquist routine
With her memory
Dear pet crematorium
My gorgeous monster is not here
To vomit anymore
But I may do it for her
*Hairball*
*Mic drop*
Rest in Power
Baba Yaga
20-06-2001 – 25-06-2015
Hannah Chutzpah 
that title should win a prize all by itself: sooo good!
The title was nicked from a wonderful comment from the poet Marisa Silva-Dunbar. Everything else was my own work 🙂
…apart from the direct quotes which were really in the four real poems that they really gave me.
A cat named “Baba Yaga” isn’t going over any rainbow bridge, unless it’s the one to Asgard, and she’s decided to see how many Viking gods she can mop the floor with.
Thank you! I don’t know why that pleases me so much but it does.
The name suited her n’ all. Less than a year before she died (with crappy kidneys and God knows what else) she was still staring off foxes in the garden. Managed to draw blood from the vet and swear a lot on that last visit and all.
She was soppy for me, though 🙂
I just want to tell you, your poem made me both laugh and cry. My cat was a dignified lady tabby (gray), and I know what it’s like to have an empty spot where she used to curl up in my bed. (It’s been 7 years and several beds later, I still get sniffly thinking about it.) I love the embedded tribute to Baba Yaga, and what a way to make art out of an absurd situation. You have a great gift for dark humor as well as naming your pets.
Reblogged this on Dsbs42's Blog.