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by W Girt

If ever I get to Heaven,
Peter let there be Purring by the Golden Gates,
a cat to welcome me.
By crystal fountain,
clear and cool,
I’d like a place to stop,
To watch a languid pussy paw curl out to catch a drop.
And if an angel feather drifts gently down from space,
Surely there’ll be a kitten there to whirl in frenzied chase.
But if,
in Heaven’s great mansions,
for a cat there is no room,
Then Peter,
lock the gates gain – I’m going straight back home.

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