(Both Ashley and I are certain that Forrest Gump still checks in on us. We each see him darting between our legs, or jumping up on a favorite pillow or lying in a patch of sunlight.)
I sometimes see the little guy
Scurrying down low
A furtive shadow, still quite shy
A wisp of gray smoke passing by
I sense his presence near, and know
This is our odd one, with us still.
He came among us, almost dead
A fragile puff of fur
“Not much hope,” the doctor said,
“Keep him warm, keep him fed.”
Joshua whispered, “Thank you, Sir,
He’ll be OK. I know he will.”
Cradled gently in his hand
The kitten deeply slept
Holding by a slender strand
To life, as at the boy’s command.
The promise would be kept:
What was foretold, he would fulfill.
For fifteen years he held his own
Among both foe and friend
though he seemed but fur and bone
With stubborn heart and a will of stone
Throughout his life, from start to end
Approached in his own way each hill.
So, still at times I sense him near
A ghostly presence at my side
And still at times I’m sure I hear
A young boy’s voice, affirming, clear
As certain as the time and tide
“He’ll be OK, I know he will.”
May God bless you all enough. . .