The Cheeky Fighter
By Christos Floratos
Although his battles are over,
And his dances are more sombre,
The Cheeky Fighter will never really rest.
He will dook along in our hearts.
Jump higher than ever before.
Climb heights that mountains would not dare impose.
Close gaps he could never make.
But the fall was never enough to keep him down.
When the first scare happened-
An accident from gluttony that The Cheeky Fighter didn’t quite understand-
He fought and fought, until his belly had to be shaved.
But home was a way that was clearly paved.
Then, as Houdini would challenge a locked box,
The Cheeky Fighter disappeared.
Longing like Penelope I stared from my window.
Across the road, a plaid man held an even plainer carrier.
The Cheeky Fighter returned, worn from his two-week adventure,
Finding others like his furry self, but cheekiness turned to hostility.
He travelled blocks away – a whole other world.
And from that adventure did the scars manifest to open wounds.
And the yellow settled for his canines.
And he lost, just a bit, of his cheek and fight.
Years past and the fighting had passed.
He had begun to slow.
A disease was coming with no clear antidote.
Yet, he remained cheeky.
The medics could reveal his vitality from the nips on their skin.
But that vigour – it had to slow.
He rested and rested.
He rested and fought so much
until I decided.
He need not fight anymore.
With the scent of his favourite treat,
the company of his favourite friends
and the cleric who was his favourite to bite,
Did He pass, lovingly into the night.
But he is still here.
Still stealing toilet rolls
Still hiding water bottles
Still fossilising his poos.
Still, Teemo, The Cheeky Fighter,
Will be here for me and you.