Poem: The cat has been dead more years than he lived

The cat has been dead more years than he lived

but I do not feel
any better since he is gone.
I do not think
time is helping,
do not know
what could.
Some will think
it is a cat
and not understand.
What can I do
to explain it?
I do not know
or think I should,
or should need to.
It is the way it is.
I do not have reasons,
or none that matter.
I can offer them
but it will not help,
will convince some,
I am certain,
it is only an illusion,
that my feelings
do not reflect the truth.
I do not care about that.
What do I care about, anyhow?
I miss him and it cannot change.
What does it matter
that he was only a cat?
Why do I even worry?
Why is that the thing
this poem became about?

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