There's this little, black cat
that comes into my garden.
She plays with the wild flowers,
tiny violet petals on long stems,
primordial wands of green.
Delicately, she paws them and runs her
sleek fur against them. I squat down,
and say 'come on' – my arm
resting on my knee,
I dabble my fingers in the air,
and say 'come on pussy'.
She went this way and that
and started up onto the decking
but would come no nearer
to me. She moved away
and sat by the fence,
in a neat little pause,
and looked this way and that,
passing her glance near me.
I don't know her name,
so I call her 'Jenny'.