A poem about the death of Peluda, a cat taken from the authorised colony on the Roman Forum in Cartagena
 
Peluda
 

Soft, fluffy, black, one of the colony. 

Her life, a hunter´ s amongst ruins. 

Pillars and broken columns, her cat bed. 

Food from a charity to supplement the rats. 


Isis, she was one of your subjects 

that worshipped at your temple in the night. 

Revenge. I ask revenge (karma´ s too slow). 

Peluda and her 5 friends were taken. 

Snatched from your portals one dark day. 

Their life became a living hell, banged up, 

life-prisoners in the dog pound´ s cages. 

Eyes growing larger, bodies fading away. 

The terror of the unknown gripped them all.
 

Peluda´ s helpers could not visit her. No crime. 

For she had served the city well. 

A citizen who deserved much better. 

From authorised rat-catcher to inmate 

and at last a corpse. Her end was terrrible.