On a cold starless night

When the moon’s yet to rise
Thrimblenorton sends out a yawl
And other cats come running:
Once they are thirteen
He leads them silently
Through back-jiggers
To an overgrown garden
Where forming a circle
As the moon rises
They start to sing:
Eyes black swaying on hind legs
Front paws claws retracted
Mouths gaping teeth and tongues
Shining, each scents their own mother,
Feels soft belly fur
Kneads for a nipple
Guzzles thick milk until
The moon fades into dawnlight:
The air is different:
Clouds smoulder,
Shadows separate

And so do they:
Five to wait on back steps
Until the first kettle goes on;
Four to slip through cat flaps;
Three to scrounge what they can
And Thrimblenorton
Who’ll find the best place
Because he always does…





Kevin Patrick McCann
Photo Nick Victor





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