Skimble Shanks the railway cat was read to me at three
I don’t remember much of it ‘cept rhyme did capture me,
Mum the pages turned for hats, and a cat in coloured coat,
E’vn cashed up owls and pussy awash, at sea in a pea-green boat.
But if I’m honest, I must admit, the only puss worrying me,
Is the one that comes around at night, and shits on my Pe-on-y!
I set the trap the other night, I’d hired to work my scheme,
Ostensibly for retrieval, to remove the possum team,
But my real intent was dastardly bent, on trapping that fluffy shitter.
So I warmed the milk, and sent a prayer to dear little Mister Kitter,
An invocation sent by me, inviting one more spree,
As I placed the cage beside the couch and went inside for tea.
I dreamt a dream that final night of Tom’s oft streetly skives,
About a giant pterosaur that roamed the night time skies,
Intent on getting justice, jees so much bloody pshaw,
For lizards, birds and frogs of yore, dispatched via puss’s paw.
Enoughs’ enough her cry went out, safety and equality,
No more obfuscation dears, nor bleatings “nought here to see”.
When I awoke I took my smoke, and went outside to pee,
Forgotten last night’s trapping stunt, until delightedly,
I heard the hiss, I saw the face, and now I am a-doing,
This Puss was mine, his anger real, capture, his undoing.
“I wasn’t here” I heard him snarl, “You can’t believe this stuff”,
“I went outside for toileting, due home in just a juff!”*
“OK, OK, enough” I said, the cage I lift carefully,
To take a closer look to confirm the anatomy,
Did it match the fleeting glimpse of squatting arsehole shute,
Of scrape and grunt, a lick of paw, and tail waved in salute,
I had no doubt, resolve affirmed, so ready to dispatch,
A cage upon the neighbour’s lawn, with subtle note attached.
In part, it read: “keep yer fucking shitting-cat off my Peony, or else …!”
* (Ed: cat is of Kiwi origins)