pets

Cat under Lockdown

My cat has been adapting to the lockdown
rather well, it must be said.

She leaves the sofa for very limited purposes,
exercising once a day in the flowerbeds,

never failing to wash her paws
for at least two hours upon her return.

She no longer meets friends or relatives
who do not live in her home,

but contents herself in catching up with them
on Skype or Zoom. Should other cats

intrude on her territory, she’s always careful
to maintain her social hiss stance,

and she deplores the action of her neighbour
who has been stockpiling mice for weeks.

She bears it all with great fortitude
although she knows everything is changed,

and, when the ambulances go by,
they will wake her and she will look at me

as if to say, don’t worry, I’m here,
I have no plans to go anywhere.

My Cat: A History

My cat, this ooze of fur and claws
across my lap, is currently experiencing
the eighth of her nine lives.

In 1919, while preparations
for a League of Nations
were composed, she dozed.

In 1789, Louis XVI appraised
the mob and realised his days
were numbered. My cat slumbered.

Whilst Thomas More, in 1534,
refused the Oath and paid the price,
she dreamt of catching mice.

Two hundred years before,
when across the land
the Black Death swept, she slept.

Further back, as Ptolemy
did some geometry and the world
got mapped, she napped.

When the citizens of Rome
showed their ire, Nero fiddled.
She curled up, enjoyed the fire.

Way back, in Ancient Egypt, my cat
was revered, at the top of the heap.
Didn’t really notice. She was mainly asleep.

Catatonia

She was trapped under a cat
For four weeks and two days.
She’d have liked to get up
She’d tried all sorts of ways.

But the cat was set fair
And would not be disturbed.
The mere thought of escape
Became somewhat absurd.

A food parcel arrived
But too late to save her.
And the cat? He just moved in
With her next door neighbour.