Maybe here name was Mrs. McCormick or Mrs. Fulton or Mrs. Adams?  Who knows?  I don’t remember her name, but I remember the day she read this poem to the class. This poem about a cat named Don Gato.

On a high red roof Don Gato sat.
He was there to read a letter,
Meow, meow, meow!
Where the reading light was better,
Meow, meow, meow!
‘Twas a love-note for Don Gato!

“I adore you,” wrote the lady cat,
Who was fluffy white, and nice and fat.
There was not a sweeter kitty,
Meow, meow, meow!
In the country or the city
Meow, meow, meow!
And she said she’d wed Don Gato!

I listened to the poem intently.  Gazing out of the window I remember staring at the white puffy clouds in the sky, taking every word of the poem in.    I pictured this old cat on the roof reading a letter from his love.   How his ears must have perked up when he learned that she would be his forever.  I imagined him smiling and purring, there on the roof, intoxicated by love.

O Senor Don Gato jumped with glee!
He fell off the roof and broke his knee,
Broke his ribs and all his whiskers,
Meow, meow, meow!
And his little solar plexus
Meow, meow, meow!
“Ay Caramba! ” cried Don Gato.

All the doctors they came on the run,
Just to see if something could be done.
And they held a consultation,
Meow, meow, meow!
About how to save their patient,
Meow, meow, meow!
How to save Senor Don Gato.

I remember as she read those two stanzas of the poem my focus went from the clouds outside the classroom window to my (now nameless) teacher’s lips. Each word she read was slow and deliberate. My chin rested in my hands and my brow furrowed; I felt tears stream down my young, ten year old, inexperienced-in-love face. Oh Senor Don Gato. Tragedy. Love. Then loss. How could it be?

But in spite of everything they tried,
Poor Senor Don Gato up and died.
No, it wasn’t very merry,
Meow, meow, meow!
Going to the cemetery,
Meow, meow, meow!
For the ending of Don Gato.

But as the funeral passed the market square,
Such a smell of fish was in the air,
Though the burial was slated,
Meow, meow, meow!
He became reanimated,
Meow, meow, meow!
He came back to life, Don Gato!

I don’t know what it was about this poem that got me, but it stuck with me for a long time. The other day I read it to the kids and they were all like, That poem made you CRY? They thought I was silly for crying about it. I don’t think I was.

For as long as I can remember I have been a cry baby. I cry when I’m happy. I cry when I’m sad. I cry when I’m angry. I cry when I say good-bye. I. Cry. Maybe it’s silly, then again, maybe it’s not. I think it just goes to show that I wear my heart on my sleeve. I think it goes to show that feelings I experience are deep and raw. I’m glad I have the ability cry. Because I equally have the ability to laugh.

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