Eulogy for a Pet

We named her Belladonna and
she died a grand old eighteen years.
A catlike silhouetted tear
revealing twilight’s firmament,
her shifting shades of brown were fair
and nightly all at once, a tapestry
too rich to earn her status as the runt.

Her older sister Smokey died
when Bella was still shy of ten,
and life without her grey sibling
unscrewed her mind, already loose, somewhat.
I like to think we kept her barely sane.