Thursday, 8 August 2013

The tramp and the...

A sorry tale.

The cat was a very important puffed up
Always preening and yowling
about her lot in life.
Claws to die for, and some had. 
The lightening flash of her paw and the spit of her venom,
enough for all comers to admit defeat and
high-tail it off at speed.
South paw, north paw,
paws at dawn:
pause for thought?
Her body showed the scars of many a 
furry fight. 

Her patch was sacrosanct.
No toms entered here...
unless with her
specific invitation.
Their intentions were
vetted and cross-checked.
No extra-marital caterwauling
in the dead of night.
She was above such carrying-ons.

An alley cat made good.

All in her world was going well
until that fateful day,
when out of the corner of her
jade green cats eye,
she spied a very
moth-eaten looking excuse for
a member of the feline fraternity.
Along with the drawbridge, her hackles were raised. 
Regally she peered out surveying her defences.

Out, out, OUT!
she shrieked.
Good money was spent to
ensure her breeches were not...
well... breached.

Over the days, she got a better look 
at this thin, scraggy looking excuse for
a puss.

'You can say one thing for him, he certainly is brave!'
she thought.
But wait...
Followed hard-on, by

'Brave or just plain desperate?'

The cannon was repositioned,
the artillery lined up in readiness.
Huffilly she harrumphed and lay in wait.
Fleeting glimpses were seen as the poor beast
skiddaddled away at the merest of vibrations of her passing.

Inside her cold, hard heart, something was stirring.

'He's moth eaten, he's manky, probably mangy,
he's hungry, he's unloved, lost and
far from home!'
These thoughts bubbled up from deep


The tramp was like so many before him...
down on his luck,
when with spotty hankie on a stick
he spied a very commodious abode.
A long ancient hedge with many
nooks and crannies.
The garden where chilled out
blackbirds stretched their wings
to absorb the sun's rays...
A tasty snacklet if ever there was one.
Cushy billet in a green house when the
nights turn cold.
Even a shower if you trod a certain path.

George Seagull had arrived...
or so he thought!

The big green eyed catwoman had other ideas.

'It's not that I don't like cats, it's just that 
I can't commit.

It's not that I don't like cats, it's just that
I don't like what they do the the birds.

It's not that I don't like cats, it's just that
I don't like harvesting cat crap instead of carrots!

Not unreasonable is it?

Added to which I have a very elderly dog
who likes cats even less than I do!'

She hates feeling this way...
just what is a contrary cat to do?


  1. If I may say so ma'am, an engaging piece of poetry. Quite lyrical. I must admit that at first it knocked me back on my heels. I wasn't sure if you were showcasing someone else's "work" but I believe this to be your own "baby", nurtured in your own ripe mind. Beautifully idiosyncratic like its author.

    1. Thank you Mr YP, yes it was me. Started as I waited for friends to come for luncheon yesterday, finished in the garden after they had gone. The funny thing is these blog posts of mine are always bubbling away under the surface and they break out, much the same as spots on a loon's face, (in case I've tossed you another googly, a loon is the Scottish word for a young lad!)


  2. Oh to have Mr. Pudding's way with words. Or yours! Alas, I don't so I'll just say your poem is the cat's meow.

    1. If you weren't so far away Mr O. I'd come and affectionately stratch the arms of your sofa.


  3. Loving your poetic pants...still chuckling about 'arse-upwards'. Eco Ethel xx

    1. So glad you like the tosh I write Ethel. What's this with circles? I came over to yours and didn't quite understand what cyber-other-world I had entered.


  4. Yes LL, it was a very enjoyable read!!

    I think you should publish an Anthology of your best work :)

    A lady I work with writes poetry and has published her work in printed form, but now days you also have so many options for publishing on the web. Talk to YP about Amazon's free publishing service. And I have the name of an ex-pat UK lady who lives in France who does eBook formatting.

    1. Thank you for your encouraging words Carol. I suppose one day I would love someone to make some sense out of my flights of fancy... flesh on the bones of family history, is what I'm really doing it for. Oh, and of course to indulge my inner mad as a box of frogs kid.


  5. Now my Literary Lass - you must know that this feline hobo is very likely to live in a cosy cottage up the road & is just feigning homelessness & hunger to get inside your pantry!

    1. Err... yes Nilly I do know. Added to which on a visit to our elderly neighbours I asked them.

      It has a home, and looking at the state of it, a not very good home. My heart was hardened yesterday when I found the remains of a baby blue tit in the greenhouse.

      With my innate battle-axe persona now reinstated; the water cannon is once again operational. I must confess I was becoming seriously worried that I was going soft in me old age.