To Gizmo, My Gentle Shadow: An Elegy

Oh, Admiral Gizmo, my gentle shadow in the sun,
ten years passed like whispers in the trees,
and in each one, you saved me, spun
the threads of my dark thoughts into gentle breeze.

You were a balm, soft paws on brittle glass,
a silent keeper of my scattered mind.
With you, the days were warm, they came to pass
like tender songs—gentle and kind.

I still speak of you in rooms you’ll never fill,
and I break my heart on memories I can’t shake—
each photo a pulse, each video a chill,
and yet, this ache is one I’ll gladly take.

They say love heals, yet I have found it cuts,
for loving you meant learning how to grieve.
Still, in your name, I’ll mend these wounds and ruts,
to let you go, but not to cease to cleave.

I won’t move on, my dear, I’ll move with loss—
forward through absence, through ache and time.
Each step a promise, each breath a cross
carried for you, a prose, a rhythm, a rhyme.

You were loved by those you met, and even more
by souls you never brushed in passing light.
And here I promise, my heart shall not ignore
the care you’d want for me, the strength, the fight.

I will miss your voice, that tender, secret sound—
the soft calls in the night, like whispered lines.
Now silence drapes where once your purrs were found,
and echoes fill the spaces you defined.

And though I’ll lie alone, where you once lay,
I’ll feel your weight, your warmth beside my own.
In dreams, I’ll reach for you as shadows sway,
a ghostly touch, a love I’ve always known.

To strangers met, I’ll share the tales of you,
a legend kept in laughter and in tears.
No, I will not let memory fade from view—
your gentle warmth will linger through the years.

So sleep, sweet Gizmo, in fields of endless grace,
knowing I’ll love your kin as you loved me.
For in their eyes, I’ll find your patient trace,
a whisper that keeps us steady, wild, and free.

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NOTE:

My beloved ten-year-old cat, Admiral Gizmo, passed away last November 10, 2024, after battling several health conditions. He has had megacolon, osteoarthritis, tumor, and most recently pancreatitis and suspected diabetes. He had seizures last November 01, 2024, and I brought him to the vet, crying on our way. The initial diagnosis was electrolyte imbalance.

He started recovering, eating again, and even grooming himself; although, he was partially paralyzed and still couldn’t stand. I became hopeful. Sunday night, at around 09:00 PM, I got a call from our vet saying he wasn’t able to recover from the infection caused by his pancreatitis despite being on IV antibiotics.

The ten years he spent with us will forever be in our hearts. He was family. He saved me from so many harmful thoughts. When I spiraled through depression, I told myself that I would live for him if I was no longer willing to live for myself.