My street has many cats
The brindle one hides at home
The tabby sits quietly
like it doesn’t have a care in the world

The tuxedo cat
sits on its front step unmoving like a statue
except the ever-slow movement of the tip of the tail
slowly swishing in the afternoon sun

The sleek tabby
from the bottom of the street
slinks up the road in the afternoon
searching for another cat’s meal to purloin

Then there’s John
almost white with light grey highlights
A big cat
Hides around my garden most of the day

He is supposed to live across the road
He wanders home when ready to be fed
If I wait quietly in my driveway
He approaches warily before he scampers past

Mia is my favourite
She sits on my sandstone letterbox
In the sun, a signal of fair weather
On lookout up and down the street

I felt them purring once
That deep staccato purr of satisfaction
Broadcasting their mood, requesting attention
A hint of their primeval heritage

An eye was removed after a fight
With one of the other local cats
Mia was not happy for a while
They aimlessly wandered the street
Screeching a plaintive meow
Were they demanding their eye back?

Before Mia was Austen
Dark grey, fluffy and intensely curious
He liked jumping into my car
and running into my house
to scurry off and head back home
as soon as he realised where he was

Written July 2026

© Matthew Johnson. All rights reserved.