'Patchy' was a cat of character that dominating my life as a child during WW2 in London - I daresay there are quite a few of his descendants in that area to this day
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,
heÃ¢â‚¬â„¢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
heÃ¢â‚¬â„¢d leave us, and live wild again.
* The Flats - common pasture land
on the edge of Epping Forest, Essex. England.
But Mr Soy, the subject of 'Tyrant' was a very different kind of cat of recent years. He ruled me with an iron paw.
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!