by Carole Smith

We called him “Walking Kitty”
Though we never knew his name
But every day like clockwork
From the alley out he came

To strut behind his owner’s dog
With such a noble air
That he’d been born a tabby cat
He seemed quite unaware

And when he’d stroll the gardens
In the place of chasing birds
He’d talk to anyone he’d meet
As if he knew the words

He made me laugh a hundred times
But only one time cry
That’s when I learned, for the last time
My house he had walked by