'RICKY'...

Ricky

I shared a bedroom with my parents,

Slept under a window, cornered, opposite the door;

“See you later, see you in the morning…”

In total darkness, was the usual goodnight lore.

Dozing, one night, the portal ajar,

A burglar dropped swag on my bed;

Terrified, I called out to my mom and dad,

Disturbing the new kitten instead…

Ricky had sneaked in through the open door

And had jumped lightly onto my feet…

Admonished, I lay and jerked the odd silent tear,

For the fear of my dad was sadly discreet.

After moving house, when I was seven years old,

Ricky’s paws were basted with butter,

Temporarily imprisoned in a cupboard, locked with a toy canoe,

He clambered amongst the removals clutter…

He leapt like a goalkeeper, cat-like,

To parry a ping-pong ball,

When I threw it and bounced it over his head,

Up and down the length of the hall.

Glistening black, keen-eyed and quick,

I saw him soar high to clutch at a bird

But to punish Ricky seemed critically incorrect,

To curb natural instincts was absurd.

He sometimes wore my grey, school shirt with a tie;

Often when mom strolled to the shops, Ricky stalked.

Once he attempted to board a 55 ‘bus with her

So she alighted and home they both walked…

He sat for hours watching Floss’ aviary next door,

Scores of budgies in a garden cage;

He ate salmon and egg and boiled fish

And drank full cream milk until old age.

One day he was fiddling, pawing at Pip

My fish in its goldfish bowl;

Mom returned from shopping to find smashed glass on the floor

And grabbed the shovel she used for the coal.

She brushed the wriggling fish onto it,

Like a piece of coal from the floor,

Carried it like she was in a pancake race, 

Through the kitchen’s open door.

Mom filled the washing-up bowl with cold water

And shovelled in the writhing Pip;

It recovered and should have been renamed Sooty,

After its out of water, coal-dip.

Terrified by the shattered glass,

Ricky had left the scene at the double;

But was held over a new bowl by my angry father

And smacked on the rump for his trouble.

My parents firmly believed Ricky’s death

Was caused by the actions of Floss

And her hearing-challenged husband Tom,

Because for Ricky they didn’t give a toss.

It was suspected that they sprinkled poison

Near the aviary’s squawking cage,

To deter the local pussy community,

Which deprived our Ricky of old age.

With a lick of brandy on Ricky’s tongue,

My father revived the ailing pet,

Who lived on for a very short, sad time,

Before succumbing unpleasantly to death.

Ricky used to sharpen his claws on a lilac tree’s bark

And he was buried beneath it, one night;

The sleek, black tom-cat, I’d seen pluck a bird from the air,

To death had surrendered life’s fight.

He had been lithe with bright, keen eyes,

Blue collar stark on contrasting black fur;

Mom’s close companion for many lonely hours,

Together, comfortable, wherever they were…

Pete Ray

1963, MOM & ME IN PLYMOUTH...

Ricky really did become mom’s companion, with dad at work much of the time, collecting insurance from clients’ houses through days and often evenings too.

I named him after Ricky the boy in the black and white TV series ‘Champion the Wonder Horse’…

The cat attempted to catch the 55 bus to the city centre too…

RICKY, THE BOY WITH THE HORSE...