We came down one morning,
And there they were, on the sofa.
A big, tatty ginger,
And a small thin black.
And Mike, our tabby.
All curled up,
Together.

Their ears cocked,
And they looked up slowly,
Blinking,
As sleepy cats do,
Then leapt,
And ran,
Clustered by the back door cat flap.

It has a magnetic lock,
Keyed to the collar,
Around his neck.
He went through first,
And held it open,
While the ginger and the little black,
Shot through.

They are more careful now,
Not to be seen,
But we leave out,
Extra food,
And drink,
And stay upstairs,
On the coldest nights.

I caught a glimpse,
The other evening.
They look fatter,
Sleeker,
Like somebody owns them,
Though I suppose that,
No one does.