There’s a secret that I share with those who come near
About a land tract and agreement with someone very dear
It is my little cat and his predatory prowling
That keeps away the foxes and all that howling.
We compartmentalise our land and take it in turns
To find a way to get about our daily grind and burns
Finding it useful to see each other’s itinerary
Safe from the dispatch box of letting off a litany
Of abuse and neglect about the way things should be
Aside from green like the garden grass and the various shrubbery
He likes his corners and keeps to his edges
I just want to fix those holes in my collective hedges.
I take time to water the plants that he tramples
And cut the lawn so sharply when he is away collecting samples
Of other people’s gardens and how they let him sleep
Until he needs his food and comes home to collect his keep.
This predator marks his land and sits on the top of the steps
Lest we ever forget to keep things the way he left them
But in the end we agree and make time for a kiss and a cuddle
Should we ever find our cohabitation turn into confusion and a muddle.

AI Summary

Your poem describes a small, shared world between you and your cat — a private “land tract” agreement built on mutual rhythms, boundaries, and unspoken understanding. The cat is both predator and companion, patrolling the territory, keeping foxes away, marking his corners, and returning home with the confidence of a creature who knows he belongs. You tend the garden he tramples, fix the hedges he ignores, and watch him wander through other people’s spaces before returning for food and affection. The poem becomes a meditation on cohabitation: how two beings with different instincts negotiate space, routine, and care without falling into conflict. Beneath the humour — the samples he collects, the steps he guards, the holes you patch — is a quiet tenderness: the recognition that even when things get muddled, you and this small creature always return to a kiss, a cuddle, and the simple agreement to live together in peace.