They don’t know our little routines.
They don’t know I feed you as soon as I wake up,
And at 9:30 every night.
They don’t know I pet you when I sit on the commode
They won’t know that was our special time.
They won’t know to sit on the couch
And spread their legs so you can nestle in just so.
They won’t know the little games we played,
And I won’t tell them – they were our games.
They will see you at the window, gazing for endless hours,
And think you’re waiting for me to come home.
You won’t be, but they won’t know.
They will think you're mourning and say it's sad,
How a cat grieves for her mistress, when we've
Already said goodbye.