it is high Summer
they turn up at their digs
for dinner and tea
their internal clocks never fail
they are not friends
companions even
neutered and neutral
is the best that can be said
they put up with each other
allow no feline interest
the samller one is what
the samller one is what
my grandma called ‘an alley cat’
black with white feet
and the usual white bib
she has a close coat
her yellow eyes rarely change
two years older than the grey tabby
she seems much younger
she’s a bounder
who never ever runs
the garden has gone wild
the garden has gone wild
a trodden path leads
from the French doors
to the garden bench
where late afternoons
I usually sit and read
out of nowhere the lodgers
will appear and sit with me
we seem to be
a curious family
my life would be lonely
my life would be lonely
the poorer without them
when called the handsome tabby
runs while the alley cat bounds
through their verdant jungle
they are affectionate mostly
though not to each other natch
lodgers they may be yet
I know nothing of their lives
save they live rent free
Jeff Cloves
Picture Rupert Loydell
.