(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. . .