Freya, the Cat

Last night, about 10:30 PM, our 19-year old cat, Freya, breathed her last.  Never a big cat, Freya has suffered from hyper-thyroidism the past three years or so.  She had shrunk to barely 5 pounds, skin and bones.  Yet, she burned brightly, defiant, loving, adventurous to the end.  Last niht, she apparently was struck down by a blood clot.  She died peacefully.

Unable to sleep, I pulled out my collection of lausaversir and discovered one I could use as inspiration and a base for a new poem for Freya.  I often thought how ironically she was named, as she could have never pulled the goddess's cart, but would have been much more at home riding by her namesake's side.

For Freya

Mice-disturber maunders

mighty flay-paw slightly

stupid in dawn's shadows

slides to bedside idly.

paws on fish-foes pillow -

purrs to master's stirring.

grumpy herring-giver

grouses at the mouse-bane.

Still remains her spirit

strong despite her slightness

Grousing yet still graceful

Gold eyes sleeps in peace now

Flaypaw goes to fiercely

Forage midst the borage

Ancient, kitten ever 

always Freya's maiden.

Freya (l.) next to a napping Mr. Cid