Ivy’s Love Tango In the hush of Scott Street evenings, where the lamplight kissed the floor, Ivy stepped into the shadows, and the world became amor. With her velvet paws in rhythm, and her heartbeat keeping time, she swayed between our ankles like a tango in its prime. Little Princess, dark and graceful, eyes like midnight’s burning glow, she would circle, hush, and settle— then the dance began to flow. Her purrs were low bandoneón, a whisper rising from her chest, and her head-butts were the accents in a dance she knew the best. We moved slow through life together, each night a sultry, tender spin, her warm weight pressed against us, a tango looping skin to skin. When her kibble bowl ran shallow, she’d cry out with grand display— a diva’s flourish, full of drama, a tango queen in full bouquet. She danced through nineteen stolen years, ninety-five in human time, her steps grew soft, her body light, but her love remained sublime. On a cold December morning, with the ravens calling low, she took her final tango bow in the arms she’d come to know. Oh Ivy, sweetest dancer, Little Princess pure and true, the rhythm of your gentle life still leads our hearts to you. And somewhere on a rooftop, in a patch of warming air, your shadow dances softly— a tango drifting over Alamo Square.
