David Chadwick

A poem for July 2014

 

Cinque Terre Cat

 

I met a cat on the coastal walkway to Monterosso

He was asleep on a picnic table in the shade

A permanent scowl on his flattened face

Thick brown fur with patches of brown

I could see the family resemblance

To the cats in Vernazza

Probably their grumpy uncle

I scratched his head with one fingernail

He did not like that

And told me so with one sharp syllable

There was a bowl beside him

For any scraps of food

I might care to offer

But he was not begging

He took what we passing tourists gave

As a right

It was his table after all

He was there first

And he would still be there

In the evening

When the sun sank into the Mediterranean