‘Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind…’
CATS II, A.S.J. Tessimond
With your lithe delight, at the refuge for strays
and rejects, you and she chose each other
immediately. She had a white tuft
at her throat but otherwise was truly
sable; with Egyptian eyes – emerald,
unblinking, discerning; a sycophantic
charmer; an aloof dowager; a great
mouser, night or day, bearing carcasses
as reward for those that worshipped her.
She slipped away like water – though, seemingly,
she had become so street-wise sidling
through whatever wilderness she came from.
With such easy pickings in expansive
suburban gardens so close to fields
maybe she became insouciant.
Her feline subtlety was outmatched
by brute, human force – a car broke her neck.
On the large touch screen in the library,
while we are waiting for Grandma to join us,
you write, using its CAD facility,
many things, including your age – seven
and three quarters – and draw a picture
of your cat, a heart, then write your name
and hers. You turn to smile at me. They were wrong
the writers of Genesis. There is death
as well as birth in Paradise. When we lose
innocence and know the terror in the dark
or the light, we learn to mourn and grieve –
and forget to remember and smile.