my humans call me Merlin

They called me Merlin,
white as a ghost, eyes blue
like the deep end of a bad night.
Fed me well, these humans,
never thought to clip my balls,
thought I was magic,
not trouble.

Then one evening, strolling back,
I found her, Lady they called her,
dark fur, eyes like gold,
pregnant with my mistakes,
but beautiful, wild,
a hunter in the shadows.

Four kittens she birthed,
three boys, one girl,
tiny mewling things.
I kept to the garden,
or wandered off for catnip,
lazy nights with friends,
while she did it all —
fed them, hunted, watched.

Lady got pissed,
growling when I came home late,
kids bumping into me,
no peace, no rest.
Her anger a storm,
my growls a weak echo.

It was too much.
One night, I left,
found solace at the old folks’ home,
retired humans who spoiled me,
no kittens, no Lady’s rage,
just soft hands and warm laps.
Still white, still blue-eyed,
they pet me, remember me.

I wonder if she misses me,
if cats do that,
think of past lovers,
miss the chaos we left behind.
Leo, one of mine, grew big,
a terror to the small things.
Lady, her fur a cascade of dark silk,
still with our humans,
still hunting, still wild.

I’m here now,
pampered by the old,
thinking of those days,
the love, the fights,
the freedom I took.
Life’s a gamble,
even for a cat named Merlin,
and sometimes you win,
even when you leave.