I want to howl like a panther but
you're groggy with anaesthetic
and the assistant vet's close by.
Seven months old, not to see
one summer. You, cub of mine,
folding your body to match my line
as we weather the cool sun. Or,
up on your hind legs, a meerkat,
checking to see I'm watching you.
We bury you in the back garden,
set on top red-flowering Nicoline,
hang your name tag from a chain,
there let it ring.