Ave Atque Vale

Multas per gentes et multa per aequora vectus
Avdenio has miseras, Finchy, ad inferias
Ut te postremo donarem munere mortis
Et mutam nequiquam alloquerer cinerem.
Quandoquidem fortuna mihi tete abstulit ipsum,
Heu miser indigne Finchy adempte mihi,
Nunc tamen interea haec, prisco quae more parentum
Tradita sunt tristi munere ad inferias,
Accipe fraterno multum manantia fletu,
Atque in perpetuum, Finchy, ave atque vale.

And that answers that.

On the other hand, I'm proud of our cat.


I would have preferred him dropping Finchy at MY feet a month ago, or at least having the common decency to wait until I got home before dropping him at Niki's...

As for you, Finchy, old friend, I have no doubt you fought a good fight.

O FINCHY! my Finchy! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The spring is near, the cat I hear, the neighbors all exulting,
While follow eyes the bathroom skylight, the chamber grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! Heart
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where behind the bookcase Finchy lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Finchy! my Finchy! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you birdseed and birdhouse treats—for you the roofs a-crowding;
For you they call, the birdwatchers, their eager guidebooks turning;
Here Finchy! dear neighbor!
This wing beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the floor,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Finchy does not answer, his beak is pale and still;
My Finchy does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The cat is purring proud and smug, his kill, the prize he's won;
From midnight trip to toothy grip on avian object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the floor my Finchy lies,
Fallen cold and dead.