Her death was sudden—
a blink, and it was done.
I was asleep inside.
my newborn breathing beside.
No sound... Nothing to worry
Still, something tilted in the air.
Something was wrong.
I wanted to cry.
She was deep-rooted,
not just a pet or cat.
They say three dogs had her.
No blood.. No meows
Only a quieted pulse.
Her neckpiece still rang
when they lifted her.
Lucky—
that was her name.
I got her in fragments, fractured
Numb in half and mostly ghost..
Yet we called it kitten...
Instinctive, Messy, Musing
Eating insects like treats.
She leapt from my cradle
to the highest rack,
to bookshelves that trembled.
Lucky, Lucky—
half wild,
purring through the house.
How much I loved you.
One morning we woke
to her offerings:
a dead snake, a bitten cockroach, a frog—
laid like proof of love.
We trained her too well.
Bound her too tight.
She wanted freedom.
She broke walls.
She went out.
How could we blame her?
She was never meant
to stay inside.
Lucky, little beauty—
you wandered like a habit.
One evening,
as I slept with my baby,
he came in, held me,
and said you were gone.
Lucky, my fur-child,
I miss you every day.
I wish I held you once more,
not to undo the past,
but to give this love a home.
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 12:44 AM UTC
Her death was sudden—
a blink, and it was done.
I was asleep inside.
my newborn breathing beside.
No sound... Nothing to worry
Still, something tilted in the air.
Something was wrong.
I wanted to cry.
She was deep-rooted,
not just a pet or cat.
They say three dogs had her.
No blood.. No meows
Only a quieted pulse.
Her neckpiece still rang
when they lifted her.
Lucky—
that was her name.
I got her in fragments, fractured
Numb in half and mostly ghost..
Yet we called it kitten...
Instinctive, Messy, Musing
Eating insects like treats.
She leapt from my cradle
to the highest rack,
to bookshelves that trembled.
Lucky, Lucky—
half wild,
purring through the house.
How much I loved you.
One morning we woke
to her offerings:
a dead snake, a bitten cockroach, a frog—
laid like proof of love.
We trained her too well.
Bound her too tight.
She wanted freedom.
She broke walls.
She went out.
How could we blame her?
She was never meant
to stay inside.
Lucky, little beauty—
you wandered like a habit.
One evening,
as I slept with my baby,
he came in, held me,
and said you were gone.
Lucky, my fur-child,
I miss you every day.
I wish I held you once more,
not to undo the past,
but to give this love a home.
This poem is written from a place where loss arrives without warning and leaves no visible marks. Lucky was not just a pet, but a presence woven into everyday lifewild, loving, and uncontainable. These lines do not seek closure or comfort; they simply hold memory, responsibility, and affection together. If the poem feels quiet, it is because some grief does not speak loudlyit stays, breathing softly, asking only to be remembered.
