Ode to Jane

In crept a tiny, skinny, pregnant stray,
Who found a soft sweatshirt by a playhouse.
Abandoned or quite lost, she would not say,
But preferred dry cat food to grass or mouse.

She wooed a family with whiskers long
And skittish eyes and melancholy mew.
The fools' soft hearts knew that it would be wrong
To leave her in the frosty April dew.

They quickly made a bed inside a room
For laundry that was next to the garage,
Tempted her with fancy dry cat food,
Safety, warmth and sweet human massage.

She had her litter there upon the floor,
The sixteenth birthday of the youngest child.
A member of the family evermore,
Although they could not name her when they tried.

Melanie or Tabitha, too plain?
They struggled on for indecisive days
Till tripped on in the hall, when "Friggin' Jane!"
Was uttered by the boy and would remain.

Though shamelessly in love with Thurstin cat,
The king of the household in which she stayed,
Inching close when ever his eyes would bat,
To touch him was her thrill till she was spayed.

Jane was a loyal, loving, playful pet,
Attached to mother's lap and father's knee.
Sleeping on their pillows in the bed
And basking in the sun, emitting glee.

The family never knew the cat's true age,
though "eight" was mentioned nearly every year,
as "twenty-nine" for humans, every stage
was eight from fat and crazy to one eared.

We won't forget her now or any day,
The sweet feline that touched our lives, plain Jane.