A spunky, frisky little guy
With mischief gleaming in his eye,
A tendency to snoop and pry,
Antics that made me laugh or sigh,
And sometimes even made me cry
—that was Gizmo.

A smug grin, a contented purr,
Wrapped in a ball of inky fur,
Curiosity none could deter,
Eyes and ears that kept him astir
At the slightest movement or whir
—that was Gizmo.

No run-of-the-mill, common cat,
Part clown, part acrobat,
Half rogue, half cherubim, three-fourths brat,
Pro hand-that-fed-him, anti-rat
One-hundred percent autocrat
—that was Gizmo.

And now from me he’s gone to stay
In that place to which good cats stray;
He used his nine too fast away,
Much, much too soon, to my dismay;
I miss the joy—more than I can say—
that was Gizmo.

Part of me, from my very core,
Has left this earth and gone before
Me to that land called Evermore
And waits for me at Heaven’s door
To let me know the joy once more
that was Gizmo.

Sometimes, I tend to theorize
He was an angel in disguise
Compressed down into laptop size
And sent to earth to please my eyes
In the form of that precious prize
that was Gizmo.

Written for Debbi Hinson, Gizmo's adopted 
mama, by her father, J. G. Braddock Sr.

For other poems by 
J. G. Braddock Sr.
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By Inspiration Only