25 JANUARY 1992, Page 26

Francis

When my heart heaves like a hooked fish and breath creaks crooked as hairpins from my lungs, I remember Francis, our sweet- tempered cat who — poisoned by Christian neighbors - limped into the garden breathing hard, curled in camellia shade, and died, modest and self-effacing as a fern, closing his delicate ears to the mockingbird's laugh.

Francis believed in heaven, purring in paradise fourteen years, plying his roles as killer and comforter, guiding our children through catnip, grace and double-hinged doors of conflicting claims, death and the rights of mice.

Peter Meinke