Feline Felonies


If you’re the sort who ever thought that cats were full of grace
Then get one. That should wipe the stupid smile off your face.
They blunder almost everywhere.
They fall off sinks and fall up stairs.
They break your cups and shred your chairs.
They even try to eat your hair.
You buy them choicest cuts of meat in fancy tins from fancy ads,
Designed by experts with degrees who spend their lives in cat food labs,
But cats just couldn’t give two shits. They’d rather eat the chicken bits
That fell behind the bin last week. It’s either that or bite your feet.
You spend a fortune every day on odour-eating litter trays,
And then they leave a well-placed splat beside the tray, or in your hat,
And try to bury it from view with library books and clothing too.
And when you crawl off to your bed they’ll want to curl up on your head,
Then sit there looking sad and meek as you dab blood up off your cheek.
You try to keep them safe from harm, while they play Tarzan with your arm,
Or scale the curtains like a goat, or wait in ambush in your coat.
They’re eating, crapping balls of spite that thunder round the house all night.
There’s nothing graceful with a cat. They’re little gits, and that is that.


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