A true story of many years ago I told my sister this past summer. She said it would make a great poem. Great, possibly not; but true , yes indeed.

A Cat Called Mimi
By John Herlihy

Mimi always came to me when she was called,
A devoted cat if there ever was one installed.
Her calico colors of white, orange and brown
Certainly eye-catching, enough to astound.
Her belly exposed a soft bed of cotton fluff,
Her fur rich and thick, made of the right stuff.
Mimi was no ordinary cat just hanging around,
She was alert, wild, and always stood her ground.
Born deep in Arabia Felix of a pure blood breed,
She responded as a human in thought and deed.
When I called her, “Mimi”, she just ran to my side,
She always knew where I was, I couldn’t hide.
A faithful and devoted cat one could only wish for,
A true companion and friend I always hoped for.
When she disappeared, I had only heaven to implore.

It happened one day when she was fifteen years old,
At first, I ran about shouting her name, ready to scold.
Mimi made a name for herself by coming when called,
Now the apartment was empty, only silence installed.
At first, I couldn’t believe her gone as my heart sank,
That I had my own carelessness for her loss to thank.
Days passed into weeks as Mimi appeared only as ghost,
Lost in the shadows unable to find her precious host.
One night I sat pensively glancing about the rear window;
A New York apartment with views into another window;
On the other side of the alley, on the street next to mine,
When I looked into the flat what was it I could divine.
I saw a cat sitting on the ledge looking into the night haze,
Striking a meditative pose where nothing broke her gaze.
Unless I was mistaken, I could have sworn it was Mimi,
Looking across the dark alley as though she could see me.

With my heart in my throat, I quickly ran down the stairs,
Out into the open street, running with my eyes full of tears.
Trying to estimate the building down into the next block,
Then running up the stairs as though in a state of shock.
Could my beloved Mimi truly be reborn from eternal hope,
Locked into my heart, as I roamed the NY streets like a dope.
With my heart pounding loud and hard, fifteen to the dozen,
Hoping the door wouldn’t be opened by an unfriendly Russian,
I heard the lock click open, the door squeak, my mind unhinge,
A bright-eyed little old women appeared, ready to cringe.
“Did you find a cat a few weeks ago,” I said half hysterical?
“Why, yes, I did,” she replied, with a voice sounding lyrical.
“Mimi,” I implored, thinking by now she may have forgotten;
Or worse, the cat I saw not Mimi, once loved as my begotten.
With her distinctive Bedouin cry, she bounded thru the door;
Only to leap to her place on my shoulder, as I fell on the floor.