Was it Tiny?

The conversation moseyed to
Marmite and Button and Tiny.
(Was it Tiny?)

A faded memory of green cat eyes glaring…
but not a real memory,
just a photograph
that could have been a memory
but wasn’t.

Dad reminds Lynda of riding her bike,
reluctant passenger neatly tucked in a wicker basket
(which mouse?)
until a wee escapee came too close
to the rubber that one time.

Hugged, the way only a small child can,
life literally squeezed out.
Poor Marmite.
(Was it Marmite?)

And still a memory,
that isn’t a memory,
of a white cat,
with a hungry stare,
and a mouse,
that’s no longer there.

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