The One About The Cat.

Liz Fairley.

[ Picture of Cat ]

I know it’s the same old story,
the one about the cat;
but ballads aren’t my bag, so tough!
I’ll make do with that!

Early on one Sunday morning,
atop a lofty willow tree;
sat a cat of fourteen summers-
hoping for her liberty!

If you’re really being observant,
then, you will surely note-
I pinched that from ‘Kevin Barrie’,
Which someone else wrote!

But, already I’m digressing-
easily done by me!
So, let me see, where was I?
This cat’s stuck up a tree!

She’d been chased there by a bulldog,
with jaws just like a vice.
She’d been sitting there for hours,
which wasn’t very nice!

She was far too old to fight now,
so she’d climbed up on a hunch;
that the dog would soon get bored-
and go home for his lunch.

But the dog had stayed much longer,
to leave he wasn’t hasty!
He just sat there, salivating-
he must have thought her tasty!

{dog]

Soon she’d got a throbbing head-ache,
from the dogs persistent bark.
When the rain came, she decided-
she was too old for this lark!

The bulldog stayed around till night;
till the rising of the moon.
Then he just turned-tail and walked away!
Ah, good! She’d be home soon!

Getting up the tree was easy;
it had a strong, thick trunk,
but its branches were so flimsy-
she couldn’t do a bunk!

So she’d sat and watched the sunrise-
beside a small, brave bird.
Then she just sat there, meowing-
hoping she’d be heard...

She’d almost given up hope, until-
she heard the ding-dong bell!
Along came the big, red fire-engine,
and fireman Sam as well!

So, now she’s hit the headlines,
for everyone to see...
how some poor, old, frightened moggie-
was rescued from a tree!

But in her litter-tray tomorrow,
I’m sure it won’t amuse;
she’ll very soon discover-
that she’s yesterday’s news!

Yes, I know you’ve heard it all before-
no doubt you’ll hear it again;
same old clichés and same old rhymes-
but this one’s done! Amen!

I just had to add a postscript,
excuse me if I bore!
I really found composing this-
was somewhat of a chore!

Counting syllables on fingers-
to me there’s nothing worse.
That’s why I don’t write ballads;
I much prefer free verse!