by Lord Lycan
A larger than expected poem about a man and 'his' cats.
|Late one night in a home, in a city out there,
A small little hovel in the town of Saint Claire.
A miracle occurred, at roughly half one,
Came Alfie, and Rupert, and dear little John.
The kittens so warm, in the nest they did lie,
While the owners rejoiced eating rum Christmas pie.
Later that night, when the ashes were cold,
The kittens lay silent and sweet smells grew old.
The food was all gone now, the table lay bare,
Down from the chimney came long winding hair.
Came jumpers with stripes, came eyes set like coal,
Came Bill and the Cat’s who’d come for his goal.
He crept through the house, to the kittens asleep,
Who purred by their Mother, bar John, who did squeak.
He snatched them all up and threw them in his sack,
Which whirling around, he swung onto his back.
Out of the city and into the dark,
Straight past the bakers and beyond the park.
Down to the woods, with the two tallest trees,
He swept like the wind in a cold winters breeze.
Down a cobblestone path, to a house far away,
He slid on inside and waited for day.
Early that morning, as the sun kissed the sky,
Bill sat there and nibbled, on cold stolen pie.
From cupboards, and windows, and under the bed,
Came cats of all sizes whom sort to be fed.
Their yowls and their screeches filled up the air,
As Bill pulled free kittens from up in his hair.
They said he was mad, strange, weird and well odd,
And also a myth, just like Sweeny Todd.
But now we all know that the barber was real,
But what of our Bill, at the kittens he’d steal?
The evening grew dark; the street lamps came on,
Out to the garden came Bill, and dear John.
With cats in the hundreds, on the floor, on the fence,
His voice loud and booming, “Let the training commence!”
Dodging and diving and swiping of claws,
More and more cats flooded out of the door.
They came and they battled, they fought long and hard,
Their actions in sync, a true work of art.
This training continued, day in and day out,
Till early one morn, they woke to a shout.
Down past the path, straight through the woods,
From the town merchant, his stall filled with goods.
Up in the sky, a dark cloud filled the air,
Of pigeons that flooded the town of Saint Claire.
They pecked and squawked as the birds attacked,
But Bill and the cats rose up and fought back!
Howls and screeches as death came true,
For the pigeons that was, for the cats, it was food.
With a flap of their wings, turning tail they retreat!
Whilst Bill and the cats went home for a sleep.
The birds having gone, the town safe for now,
“Well done!” Said Bill followed by a happy meow.
So if ever you wake and your kittens are gone,
Know they’re safe with our Bill and dear little John.