The little black and white kitten was cold
Lost in unnatural weeds all alone.
From a window one watched, as she struggled to wake
Her eyes mere tears and her body a shake.
Her unfortunate mom had a litter
In the violent cold middle of winter.
She was the runt of four kittens who died
Yet only she was the one who survived.
Then her sorrow compounded her ache,
Both her body and soul did abate.
Without siblings she rose not to play
And grew lonelier, colder each day.
But stronger than her sorrow she feared
Outstretched hands of a stranger who cared
She fled for her life against her chances to live
And broke a heart that desired to save.
The nights stretched out colder and longer
But her body grew not any stronger.
The faint beat of her heart finally slowed
And with morning she did not grow warm.
The last thing she saw, were hands out to seize her,
So that in the end, she died not from winter,
But expending her last bit of life in mad error
The sad outdoor kitten, expired with terror.
On t’other side, woke a heavenly form,
Her tears all dried, and her body quite warm.
Curled in a lap in a chair in a home,
The ferrel cat passed, but a house cat was born!