Old Tom's Christmas

Of course our cats knew it was Christmas
They'd played with the things on the tree
And both had had liver for breakfast
And both would have turkey for tea.
But, for Old Tom who lives on the waste-ground
Things had not been quite so good.
He'd had water thrown at him for breakfast
When he'd called at the Jones's for food.
The Johnsons had not been much better
They'd hurt him by throwing a tin
When he dared to walk up their back alley
To look for some food in their bin.

So now he sat in my garden,
With sadness and fear in his eyes,
Thinking he'd have to go hungry
With rain in the darkening skies.
I opened our door very gently,
But he jumped at the sound of the latch,
Fled to the top of the garden,
And stopped on the old cabbage patch.

Some turkey I left on the doorstep
And milk by the side of the mat.
Then closing the door, very quietly
Said a wee prayer for that cat.
The best present I had that Christmas,
When later I opened the door,
Was to find both the bowls empty
And Tom bravely asking for more.

I gave him more food in the Kitchen
And cream on the rug by the fire.
And watched him lap, filling his tum
To the brim of his heart's desire.
But I'd swear there were tears in the old cat's eyes
When he looked at the crib by the tree
Remembering that once, when a kitten,
There'd been turkey and cream for his tea.

Nokomis