Separated Soul

[stormy tom]

Here lies my cat, cold and dead
Freed of its shell, a soul from his head
Fast as it could the soul went to find
A body again in shelter to find.

"Nine lives," said the cat, "bah. That's a load of superstition." He chose the body of a fine young Tom with slick black fur and yellow eyes. What a life. He'd seen the world.