The stillness
After the cat had gone
The house seemed empty,
Devoid of soft patter;
Downstairs,
The shaking of biscuits on tin- foil
And the long slow meow
Of a morning yawn.
The warm spot in the garden
Now an obvious space,
Plantless from years of basking.
Only the birds seemed grateful
Peace had returned to their world,
No more feathered grassways
To clear.
We buried you in front of the fir tree,
You were part of eighteen Christmases
Our very dear black and white cat.

Love the kearns family