A Street-Cat Named Mower

 


A Street-Cat Named Mower 

(for pronunciation think Miaou-er)


You were our Street Cat,

Our Survival Instinct Cat,

Our Scaredy Cat, at first

Who ran in fits and bursts.


Then you came in, for the kill,

Laid mice at our patio-door sill

Birds and dragonflies all made jam!

Look how clever I am, I am!


As no owner could be found,

You persisted and gained ground

Into our lean to, and our hearts.

This is where our story starts.


Litter trained? Definitely not!

But no shit, when we got you we got a lot,

Around the tray and underfoot!

Trainers, slippers, welly boots.


You'd always find a sunny spot

In the garden, or hutch a-top

With our bunnies you stretched out lean,

To sleep, perchance to dream, no screams!


It was this laid-back sun-a-stretchin'

That got you a Liv Torc mention

In a film about lockdowns, 

Haiku and a photo-match = 'Haiflu*' fame found!


Then, when we decided to up and move sticks,

You sat on our boxes and got in the mix,

Ok Ok Mower of course you can come!

And yes, there will be a spot in the sun.


And so you came with us and soaked up some rays, 

And with our bun Hamish you enjoyed your days,

He liked to dig holes and you liked to fill them,

A partnership like theirs you ne'er did imagine.


We allowed you into our dayroom and kitchen,

But sofas were not then your favourite to sit on,

Instead you preferred to curl up on the table,

To be a bit mischievous and steal whene'er able.


Your worktop gymnastics gave rise to a hiss

To startle you out of bad habits dear miss,

I'll miss the cute way that you did learn to ask

For offerings of ham by tapping the drawer clasps.


Laps were your heaven and Chris' chest too,

Corduroy, fleeces, warmth with a view.

Pouches a-plenty you loved to consume,

You'd beg for one more when Granny entered the room!


I think it's the small things that we'll miss the most,

No little paws padding, pounding purrs, just the ghost,

Who follows us round as we open and close

Doors, windows, the cupboards, lick lick, that meal's (crash) toast.


I'll now sit and blame you for dishes not done,

Because dishes were tempting to you, dear old scavenging one,

I'll miss your broken miaou and the way that

 you purred,

Your softness, your lap-addiction, was truly absurd!



A Wensley

11.02.2025

*Haiflu - Liv Torc

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