Grey cat at Tickencote

oh grey cat of Tickencote

are you the guardian of the church

or a volunteer guide?

You watch us as we park the car

and as we lift the latch 

below the lych gate roof

We walk among the gravestones

looking at the carved window arches

and the inscriptions to the dead

the moss-covered ancient mound,

the solid stone statement tombs

and there you are, rubbing against my leg.

A bench for contemplation

faces the old hall's lake

and you leap up, then lightly to a table tomb

the sunlight catching the way your fur

outlines your frame.

When we open the heavy oak door

to admire the chancel arch

and grotesques in ceiling corners

you follow and show us the old cast bell

replaced some eighty years ago.

You stroll along the tiny nave

into the chancel - we'll not miss much.

As we leave we make sure you are outside

our farewell photograph sees you seated on the wall

blinking in the cooling sun.