Here is a sad poem for all feline lovers out there.
Our old hotel, nick-named
‘Faulty Towels’ after a
well known TV sit-com
required a cat.
He arrived – slightly pompous
and aloof, at first…
Grey and white, soft and fluffy:
part Persian, purrfectly gorgeous.
He was: a furry pear on the step,
my warm boa on cool nights…
our youngest son’s beloved pet;
sometimes a pain…
Catrobatically agile, he hung
upside down from our shoulders;
took a siesta on the bowling green nearby
and stopped play!
Dainty, loving; a predator – cliché cunning as a fox –
he ushered in unexpected,
highly reluctant ‘house guests:’
petrified, coronary-inclined sparrows, terrified mice…
He ‘sashayed’ like a star – seduced guests with his
silky loveliness, iridescent eyes; his character…
invaded the odd bed but was ALWAYS
Then, one day, in one careless, forgetful action – in a
second of screeching madness –
he used up all his nine lives,
and our tears could have filled a reservoir.