No vet employed there to curb conception, for the
tolerated feline barn dwellers.
Offspring found and delat with.
A tiny white bundle, spared for a favoured ratter, by kindly publicans.
Suckled, and then lapping milk, by the end of a fabulous sunfilled stay.
Securely boxed and back seat placed for, Cork to Swansea;
Swansea to Hull.
The morning found her, curled content, between two discomforted dogs.
'Not our choice, but she can stay'
Independent, freely roaming, often away for days.
Suddenly to re-appear, mouse replete, to join the homeward walk.
Touching of base and noses required.
Four years on, the humans decide on simpler, sense enhancing, rural village life.
Home ground celebrated by triumphant dragging of a rabbit, caught unawares
A split of ways, upheaval, turmoil, many moves.
Finally back across the sea, to Dorset.
The 8th move, don't even try to keep her in.
She checks access to the house, the feeding area, accounts for canine companions, then goes out to explore.
Her findings will be reported back.
Now 13, she's outlived Casper, the labrador she loved as much as I did.
His son is gaining status.
Never a lap cat,
her head is occasionally offered for a brief rub.
Dozing close by, more frequently now.
She even, mostly, tolerates the young black upstart,
he can control the rodents now.
I resolve to cherish every day left with my, adaptable, green eyed,
West Cork cat, who always chose to stay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful, Michele.Your love is obvious.Sorry when I got to the end of this one, really enjoyed it.Kev x