Pushkin on Shoe Locker - Copy
I am Pushkin, a one eyed old Siamese cat.
I lost my eye as a kitten to children’s rage.
I lost my masculinity at an early age
And now I’m just an old softy, getting fat.

I live in the Campo, me and my companions
I love them dearly, my two human champions
I love the countryside of gentle hills and wild herbs
I play outside while they play with nouns and verbs.

Although I tell such stories of my escapades
I’m very verbal you know and laugh inside
At their reactions to my fights and wily escapes
I love the freedom of the hills, but shut doors I can’t abide.

The only evidence of my nightly fights
With two old toms of the less than friendly kind
Are the bites and scratches and blood stained sights
They are so concerned about and naturally loathe to find.

They don’t understand a word I say I know
But they’re getting used to the nuances of cat talk
Of my purrs, shouts and screams I try to show
And even at my age I can climb and jump as well as walk.

My favourite spot is the high leaning branch
Of a two hundred year old olive tree
Where I sleep in the sun or keep worldly watch
As the humans come and go keeping busy, busy, busy.

I am so lucky that if the worst should occur
I have a lovely lady vet they take me to see
Who applies a special salve to all my damaged fur
I think you humans would call it love, allowing us to be.
© David Tenneson 2015.


About David

Devonian writer
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