To a Tortoiseshell Cat

In these plague times I’d rather be you.
You too have your routine
but if something skews it
you simply move on to the next thing.

You chirrup when I raise the kitchen blinds,
pick delicately at your bowl
then from a window sill
observe the birdlife and inspect the weather.

If fine you might slip out and roll on the grass
all orange-gold and snowy leggings,
if cold you might watch TV
your green eyes fixed on the flashing mortality graphs.

I envy you not being enslaved by oughts,
that you don’t know about death,
apart from the puzzle of a mouse you are batting about
which freezes suddenly and won’t play ball any more.

Ann Pilling 2020

This poem appears in "Ways of Speech" published by Shoestring Press. For details click here.