Poem: Russian Ginger

Russian Ginger

Ginger, a Russian Blue, loved to get involved in everything we were doing.
Ginger, a Russian Blue, loved to get involved in everything we were doing.

A small, blue-grey creature

With huge sapphire eyes

Entered my life

One sunny April evening.

He mewed pitifully.

She related his problems;

How he’d spat, scratched

Mauled and hissed

His way through five weeks of life,

So far.

No-one could handle him,

She claimed.

He mewed pitifully again.

He was trying so hard to look pathetic.

Perhaps he truly was.

Maybe, it really didn’t matter.

I lifted him gently from her arms

Where he had been

Limply lying, loose-limbed and lethargic.

Lightning flashed across

Those cerulean pools.

He was startled by its reflection

In mine.

In that split second

We both knew.

Life would never be the same


Ginger was my cat who shared our lives for too short a time, just over two years. I  wrote this poem for him about four months after he was killed following a disagreement about his ability to ‘Use The Force’ against an eighteen-wheel truck. I wasn’t there when he passed away, having migrated to Hong Kong six weeks before – we had no idea whether or not we could bring him to live with us there so he was lodging with Mark’s parents, in Leeds. I was utterly devastated by his loss. I swear that his soul is reincarnated in my son.

P.S: His eyes were bright blue when he first came to us, but by the time he was six months or so, they had changed to amber. I’m really not sure why.


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