Poem for a Lucky cat

Lucky and Grandpa

My 15-year-old cat Lucky had to be put to sleep today. She was a fine old cat and a constant, if needy, friend. This is an ancient Irish poem written by a 9th century Irish monk about his cat. Lucky was just like Pangur Ban except Lucky was a "she" and not a "he", she was not Irish although she had the luck of the Irish, and she did not chase mice but had a preference for chipmunks. I am not a monk and I am too tired to sit all night hunting words. But I like the poem, especially the line "In our arts we find our bliss, I have mine, and he has his."

Pangur Ban

I and Pangur Ban, my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at;
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.

Better far than praise of men
'Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill will;
He, too, plies his simple skill.

'Tis a merry thing to see
At our task how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.

Oftentimes a mouse will stray
Into the hero Pangur's way;
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.

'Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.

When a mouse darts from its den.
O how glad is Pangur then!
O what gladness do I prove
When I solve the doubts I love!

So in peace our tasks we ply,
Pangur Ban, my cat and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine, and he has his.

Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade ;
I get wisdom day and night,
Turning Darkness into light.'

Lucy the dog and Lucky the cat: BFFs