Sadly I lost my old boy back in April.   I wrote this poem about him ages ago.

               I KNEW YOU WERE WAITING

Some were loud and noisy, standing

with paws gripped to wire,

noses forced through mesh.

Strange miaows from Snowshoes

“please get me outta here”

All endearing, all homeless,

but something lured me to the end of the aisle.

I stopped but couldn’t see you,

yet knew you were there.

I entered your pen where you snoozed, nose into tail.

Had you given up on life, or were you simply exhausted?

You raised your kind head, sniffed my hand

and stole my heart, the old boy, found by the dustbins,

with an “estimated” age.

For four months you rested and slept,

until you blinked at the warming sun

and took a tentative step into the garden,

your haven, where a ridiculous friendship

has been formed with an enormous bird of the sea,

who treats you with respect, 

as you feign the stalk of a predator,

before rolling over and pretending he isn’t there.

When you sit by the window, the sun filters through

your pink, translucent ears, and your grey and white coat

bristles like frosted fir trees.

No more rescue centres for you, my little friend, my confidante

and all because I stopped that day and looked for the one

I couldn’t see.

I knew you were waiting.

Patsy Goodsir