Patchy, a pugnacious cat,

liked to live rough when he could,

often came back tired and dirty,

unrepentant and uncowed.

Black and white flanks dull and narrow,

lived on wild rabbits from the Flats; *

day or night roamed nearby bomb sites

fearlessly fighting other cats.

Wore his scars with style and swagger

and his shredded ear with pride.
 
 

But in winter, when we called him,

he'd condescend to come inside

to stay with us, eat well and often,

sleek flanks filled out. Then in the spring

with glossy coat and eyes that gleamed

he'd leave us, and live wild again.
 
 

* The Flats - common pasture land

on the edge of Epping Forest, Essex. England.
 
 

Jean Frances
 
 

But Mr Soy, the subject of 'Tyrant' was a very different kind of cat of recent years. He ruled me with an iron paw.
 
 

Tyrant (Sonnet)

Oh wicked cat - my seal-point Siamese!

The very first day you ensnared my heart.

I named you Mister Soy. You sneered and put

your mark upon my knees in blood with claws.

I was your slave forever it would seem

despite the icy malice I endured.

It was your vile displeasure I most feared

my joy was when you purred yourself to sleep.

One day I felt resolved to make a stand

not let this evil creature rule my life.

But where to make a start and draw the line?

Then Fate moved in. Soy met a tragic end.

      A passing car struck him and broke my heart.

      Oh wicked cat - I miss you all the time!
 
 

Jean Frances