To read the latest issue, click 'Issues by year' in the menu above

I worshipped you, sweet cat
on bended knees.
And yet you had one fault –
you made me sneeze.

Your perfect silken fur,
your calm repose,
your sinuous hunter’s grace
got up my nose.

You took my breath away.
It had to stop.
And so, one summer’s night,
you got the chop.

Your fur is dust, sweet puss,
but still now, if
I pass your little grave,
I have to sniff.