Allow me to introduce you to Jacques, as in Tati. He was a stray, sleeping out in our garden for two years – two very cold Winters – but wouldn’t stay when we coaxed him to feed him. Eventually we negotiated with the various people involved in cat-things, and now he lives here permanently. Indoors.He is just due his annual inoculation.What a treat.And for me, I have to lug him there and back by hand. * Warm breath on cold fingers,a doorstep cat we feedto keep wood mice safe, hedgehogs scratch-free. And all the garden’s warm bodies: sleeping birds,rustlers in grasses and flower beds night’s populations. And peering outa loft light over the way,down the road others,troubled sleepers, silent watchers through the chokeful cloud coverthe pricks of embers,scatter of furnacesin the night sky the little bodies of space. How long have we done this,cold night and warm,our special doorstep ritualour own alignment, creatingour own nightlyconstellation?
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