A cat, and Mr James

Outside the church

A cat sits on a headstone.

A young cat, lithe and long-legged,

Tabby and white, with big cat eyes, fine head.

This cat is usually friendly

And comes to say hello,

But today

He just sits,

Looking elsewhere with his cat eyes,

The headstone a vantage point

For monitoring

And looking for little prey in the long grass.

At the other side of the churchyard,

A burial takes place.

An open grave, a small congregation,

A simple ceremony of familiar words

Recited in peaceful, prayerful air.

The quietness of the funeral party

And the stillness of the cat

Match each other

Across the grass and graves.

Mr James is lowered into his final rest place

In this hallowed old plot

where his many relatives also lie.

I look at the lichened letters

On the cat’s headstone.

Another Mr James

And later Mrs James

Sleeping here a hundred years or more,

Part of this ground now,

Their memories marked in weathered stone

And guarded by my feline friend.

I’d like to think the cat knew

About the funeral today

And came to pay respects in his own way,

But that is just my fancy.

He does not know of Mr James and Mr James and Mrs James.

And yet, I somehow think he knows

Of life and death, and prayer and peace,

And the Big Cat who watches over all.

Image by Mabel Amber from pixabay.com