old fish

An old man lies in bed with a tabby cat
resting at his feet.  For the moment
they are alone.

The doctor has temporarily retired
to his charts.  The family
has said their goodbyes.  Life slowly tiptoes
out the door.

Staring at the tabby, the man recalls
the old sayings and thinks
of a cold morning--several years ago--
when his kitten fell from a tree.

He thinks of how the kitten rose
and shook its head
after a few breathless seconds
of stillness.

For the moment
they are alone.  The man asks
the tabby in a flat whisper,
"What's she like?
Death, I mean."

The tabby regards him
with unblinking green eyes.
It slowly responds,
"She smells like old fish."

The old man sighs.
Sits back.  Closes his eyes.
Maybe he's fallen asleep,
but it seems a dry hand
rubs his shoulder and he breathes in
a familiar sour stench.

He smiles.