Two Cats, Deux Chats

En franҫais, je m’appelle Bleu, but
In England, I do what only a cat can do
Contort my limbs, forever cleansing
Foreigners to our feline world
Cannot distinguish between the
Beginning and the end of things
I am Blue

By an ancient telepathy,
A domesticated feral spirit
I commune with
An inscrutable snow-white
Handful of pure sophistication
Whose role in life - life in the Ardèche -
Is to stretch, yawn, and wait for food

Though separated, we are one.
If mere sons of Adam
Unburden their hearts in words
We self-carers transmit
Do Not Disturb messages
By extending a claw, yawning
Or…slowly…walking away…

English Blue, purring, curls into
A circle of bliss…in a pram
Whilst the French sophisticat,
Commandeering a plot
Under the green bamboo shoots
Of a café planter, laps up
The attention of the midday Sun

Their eyes, if open, speak
Of a wisdom lost to the ages
Of contentment. Of trust.
Or bringing tokens
To remind the world:
Behind their languid exterior
Lies a classy night hunter