Checkmate at Play

[Lincolnshirelass]

Just to explain, Checkmate is my cat!


He crouches, arches tall, and leaps,
intent upon his unseen prey,
his amber gaze a vigil keeps,

Keeps his enemies at bay,
with bristled fur and swatting paws,
is this too serious for play?

Or do ancestral urgings cause
an eager edge to spice the game,
played by his own, or nature's laws?

and when the phantom prey is slain,
he curls contented, on the mat,
and is at ease, and once again

a peaceful, petted pussy-cat,
content to knead my lap and purr,
and yet, I have an inkling that

the static crackle of his fur
still reveals, beneath my hand
a wish that always will recur

memories of another land
and things I'll never understand