Thoughts on a dead cat

When our cat was alive he terrorised all the birds, mice and frogs in the neighbourhood.  If you have read my poem, “A violent death” you will know what I am talking about.

Once he had died, our garden became a haven for wild life.

I miss my cat of course but I get a great deal of pleasure from observing the birds who visit our garden.  In the winter I put out food for them.

Whenever I am doing any sort of gardening or even just pottering in the garden, one little robin always keeps me company.  He’s very tame and comes so close I could reach out and touch him. I like to think it’s always the same robin – but who knows?

It makes me think of the little girl who was befriended by a robin in that wonderful children’s book by Frances Hodgson Burnett,  “The Secret Garden”.

The photo below shows “my” robin perched on top of a bucket in the snow.

I thought how, in the days when our cat was alive, this simple pleasure would not have been there for me. And I wrote this poem:


My cat is sleeping.

Just as well

he can’t see the robin

boldly standing there.

Once upon a time

no bird would dare

to venture near.

But my cat is sleeping now

And has been

For a long long time.

A lump of stone

marks his last resting place.


© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems

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