Roger Wood IndepthNH: Ode To Roxy

Print More is grateful for our Associate Publisher Roger Wood and the vast range of his talents. It was a tough time for Roger and his wife, Elaine, when their cat Roxy died recently, but he marked the occasion with his usual grace. Thanks for all you do Roger.


I just lost my best friend. Well, second best behind my wife, Elaine.

Roxy was only 18 when she passed away on Columbus Day.  Actually, 18 is a pretty good life span for Roxy. She was only 12 when she came to live with us at our home in Portsmouth.roger-140x140

Only a cat, you say? Well, Roxy was much more than that. Her one surviving eye, the other lost through an infection, could look right into your soul, I believe. That petite little black short-haired feline had a multitude of sounds she could make, and not one of them was meow.

The only ones we ever understood were her demands for milk and a door opening to her back yard. I spoiled her on milk, sharing a cup one day and creating a milk monster. That graduated to lobster bisque.

She developed a taste for the great outdoors herself, wandering around our fenced in yard or sleeping on the patio. She fancied herself a hunter, but of her potential prey of squirrels, bees, butterflies and dragonflies, moles were her only trophies. And she would proudly drop them inside the house.

When I was feeling a little down, and took a nap, she checked up on me, then cat-napped nearby. Roxy didn’t like cats, but tolerated and dominated dogs. I didn’t notice her decline until a few weeks ago. But the doctors and staff at Kittery Animal Hospital were very kind and gentle in their approach to her final care. She’ll be interred in the back yard that she loved so much, and I hope that her little spirit will roam it forever.

I wrote this little poem in her honor.

Ode to Roxy
My fur is pepper and salt now,
Lost an eye but don’t know how.
Please don’t ask how old am I,
Cause now I feel quite young and spry.
Mice and moles become my prey,
Birds and squirrels just stay away.
And I can still climb up a tree,
At least as far as my master’s knee.
Dinner time and I won’t be late,
To lick food from the humans’ plate.
I’m shooed away but I’ll be back,
To finish off a delicious snack.
Settle down for a warm winter’s nap,
A short perch on my master’s lap.
But don’t grab cause I will flee,
I’m not a toy, just simply me.
I’m Roxy, Queen of this house.

I’m Roger Wood for, hoping you’ll cherish your living and predeceased pets, wherever they are.

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