Adieu au
Sel
Sel, the third of the white cats
Who have shared their life with me;
Dragon, deaf as a post,
Used to come for walks
In the woods that backed on to my house,
When I went hunting for supper.
The gun never disturbed him,
Nor did the speeding car
That, too early, took him.
Griffin who lived into her twenties,
Eyes the same colour but
Fantastic hearing,
Died gently purring,
Cancer her final enemy,
And a needle of who knew what
That I had arranged for her.
She trusted me, I agreed to her death,
And my guilt remains.
And now Sel, the gentlest
And most loving of them all.
Scatty, random and filled with zest,
Or sleeping for France,
Patting Ali’s eyes to wake her
Every morning.
Wish I’d spent more time with her.
(Never take a shard of your soul for granted.)
She, too busy sleepin’ – or slinkin’ runnin’, jumpin’,
pouncin’, climbin’ stalklin’ and killin’.
Me with reading, learning, writing and pottering.
Her unneeded body lies now in a lonely box,
Buried here at her home, Kerlanguet,
But her ‘running up walls’ soul lives,
As do the claw marks in the wallpaper,
Once an irritation,
Now a poignant reminder
Of her delight in life.
How I wish I had known the signs.
Her wound seemed healed,
Staples secure, drain removed.
I didn‘t think enough about the strange scab
Forming round it.
Thought it was the toxins from her wound.
Caught
too late.
I
brought her home,
Curled up with the wound covered,
As the vet had been asked,
Having carried out again
My instruction with a needle
Of who knew what.
She looked, once diamond bright,
As though sleeping. A lie!
Buried now in the glade
Where she claimed ownership
Of all she surveyed.
We will plant an oak or two,
– Deus robur meum.
Life should not be defined by death.
Sel was a bright star,
By day and night,
Never troubled with animus,
Always pleased to see you,
Always ready for a purr.
A little part of what is best in me died also
And followed her soaring spirit.
Aurevoir doux Sel,
Ma petite chat francais,
Or as the anglais say,
Until we meet again.
No comments:
Post a Comment