Your pale orange and white,
Your tiger stripes.
Green eyes that see,
Maybe not as well at nineteen,
Is more than enough
To make me remember
My orange ball of fluff
I had since '93 of December.

You'd lay on my chest.
That's how you preferred to rest.
And wake me up when I sleep
So you could eat.
In the night when we slept,
You'd leave mice on our step.
Your sister was sporadic
And maybe a bit neurotic.
Just like your Mom.
But you were always calm.

Your nose and feet were pink.
And it makes my heart sink
To think I could be so mean
To see it as a bad thing.
Later, of course, I felt sorry.
And your loving self forgave me.

I wasn't around when you passed.
But I'd prefer to remember our past.
And even in the gloomy shadow of death,
You'd purr when you laid on my mother's chest.
All the time in the world isn't enough
For me to get enough
Of my orange ball of fluff.