Moo-Moo by Ron



{ Gracie }

May 1988 ----- November 11 1999


My Baby Moo-Moo


“Treats Treats Treats” went the call

as it echoed up and down the hall;

“Treats are love” she always said,

“Treats…and when you scratch my head”.

Empty her dish could never be;

For she would always come get me.

She’d look at me then at her dish

Then brush me gently swishing out her wish.


Softer fur I’ve never felt

Than Moo-Moo’s patchwork colored quilt.

She knew just how cute she was,

With pink pink toes on white white paws.

She’d sleep in the closet most all day,

But cooking dinner coaxed her out to play.

She’d vacuum crumbs up off the floor,

Watching and sniffing looking for more.


Then She’d join us quietly,

Sitting in the corner to watch us eat;

She hoped and hoped we’d see our way

To slicing off a nub of meat.

Now I can’t say she was very smart

Nor was she much a stranger’s cat.

She was hard on plants and potted flowers;

She was no one else’s ­ only ours.


Her little paws left little tracks

Across the carpet where she walked.

Her little paws left bigger tracks

Across the rift of my broken heart forever.