Ava

I used to see her coming.

I used to see her going.

Running a short nervous run

or tip-pawing.

I used to spot her in the bushes after sunset,

ready to spread all over someone’s carpet.

I could see her even when the fog was thick as vail,

happily waving her big bushy tail.

She’d nap in the shade of my palm tree when it was hot

or leave frosty paw-steps on the tin roof when it was not.

I remember the night when I came up with her name.

She was like a force so I couldn’t make it tame.

She wasn’t mine so you’d think it should’ve been all the same.

But I needed to call her something when we played a game.

So how to name something that belongs to another home and

appears quickly as it disappears like an omen?

How do you cling on the air of her free spirit

or let her go when your heart just isn’t really in it?

I was watching you jump down off that high post

then rolled around your thick fur on the frost.

It was the coldest looking thing on the whole road.

You were so warm when I rubbed your belly while you spread broad.

It was then when I decided what your name should be.

I’m really sorry it was a special day that went without a treat.

I would have liked to know then what you really think.

But you responded when I called you over ever since.

So many moon cycles have changed since then.

So many I wouldn’t even be able to say when.

But there was a day when I was there and you were not.

And maybe there were nights when you were waitng but then I forgot.

Today my heart’s forever reserved a blank spot

for Avalanche – the white cat I met on a dark night walk.

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