I used to call you Clockwork Mouse -

wound by an invisible hand

on waking and off you went

 

like Mr Fluff, the cat who leapt

from our fifth floor flat

to a broken leg and holes in the head.

 

We paid the visits to the vet,

bathed the wounds and he bounced back

into the nest for several years

 

and a new address; then his face

appeared less and less except

on telegraph poles and lampposts.

 

We called his name for several weeks,

then one day we didn’t and found he lived

with a family over the common.

 

I saw him once and hollered out

but he’s probably taken another name

or else has just forgotten.

 

It’s precious hard to fathom a cat –

harder still to ask for one back.