Next door’s cat,
alone as they’ve gone away
on holiday,
slouched on the lawn,
our garden.

A monochrome tube
flops over, turns over,
liquorice eyes peer up,
a rolling pin
kneading the green.

Thinks it owns the place,
can lounge about
wherever it pleases
drizzled in June honey,
‘round ours for a week.

It knows when I am close,
a mewling baby,
rises like an overweight man
from an armchair
and asks to be loved.