Feb 2020
He died... died on a dung hill, on a
manure heap
A little kitten, a lovely.... the cutest
little thing
Just appeared one day, one cold
Winter's morning
At the bottom of our back garden
Appeared out of nowhere so it
seemed, just sitting there
I seen him out the kitchen window,
The other two bigger cats we had
They seen him too
They went up to him immediately
They hissed and spat at him
Hit him a few times with their paws
It was like they were saying:
"You're not wanted here, this is our domain, our territory, Keep out! Keep
away!
But he just sat there, taking it all
Not even trying to defend himself.
Now I didn't want another cat, we had
two already
I was only young, a boy, had no job,
no money
We were just feeding them, feeding
them on scraps,
But you just couldn't help feeling
sorry for him
Sitting out there in the cold,
unwanted and unloved
My young boy's heart, it went out to
him
Eventually I took him out some milk
and some food
I petted him on the head
In a strange way he reminded me a
bit of myself
" Seems like the whole world is
against you too, little fella" I said
But his little head, it remained
bowed, his eyes closed, looking in
on himself,
I left him there,
Of the milk he never touched a drop
And the food, never even looked at it
He just sat there so still and so quiet,
When I went out a little while later
I found him, his little body all stiff
and cold...frozen in the cold
"This isn't a world for little things", I
thought,
" there are no miracles here, no
fairytales.....
And there ain't no happy endings
either
(They lied to us)".
I buried him.
I think I buried a part of myself as
well that day.
manure heap
A little kitten, a lovely.... the cutest
little thing
Just appeared one day, one cold
Winter's morning
At the bottom of our back garden
Appeared out of nowhere so it
seemed, just sitting there
I seen him out the kitchen window,
The other two bigger cats we had
They seen him too
They went up to him immediately
They hissed and spat at him
Hit him a few times with their paws
It was like they were saying:
"You're not wanted here, this is our domain, our territory, Keep out! Keep
away!
But he just sat there, taking it all
Not even trying to defend himself.
Now I didn't want another cat, we had
two already
I was only young, a boy, had no job,
no money
We were just feeding them, feeding
them on scraps,
But you just couldn't help feeling
sorry for him
Sitting out there in the cold,
unwanted and unloved
My young boy's heart, it went out to
him
Eventually I took him out some milk
and some food
I petted him on the head
In a strange way he reminded me a
bit of myself
" Seems like the whole world is
against you too, little fella" I said
But his little head, it remained
bowed, his eyes closed, looking in
on himself,
I left him there,
Of the milk he never touched a drop
And the food, never even looked at it
He just sat there so still and so quiet,
When I went out a little while later
I found him, his little body all stiff
and cold...frozen in the cold
"This isn't a world for little things", I
thought,
" there are no miracles here, no
fairytales.....
And there ain't no happy endings
either
(They lied to us)".
I buried him.
I think I buried a part of myself as
well that day.
The kitten poem, a true story, it always haunted me, that kitten and there were other cats who came to bad endings. I suppose I was a lonely kid, I grew up in a lovely area and had some really close good friends. But then we moved to another town, when I went to school, now secondary school I knew no one, not a soul. I hated it. The others all had friends as they'd gone to primary school together. I was an outsider, I knew no one, at lunch breaks you'd wander around alone by yourself. The lessons too, were harder and the teachers too were scary. It was so different and so intimidating. And there was no one who would understand. And then one evening this friendly cat appeared on our window sill. I never had a cat before but she was very friendly. I used feed her and bring her in and she'd sleep by the fire. In those days people were relatively poor and there was no such thing as spending money on cats, kittens would be drowned, if they were sick they'd be left to die.etc. It was a cold brutal world. I suppose this is what this poem is about, a sensitive youngster awakens to the realisation that life is hard and tough with little magic in it.
