Herbert And The Cats
Old Herbert, hater of the feline species
Nearly got one at twenty feet with a schnapps bottle;
these hairy rats piss on my cauliflowers
he winded through yellow molars.
That was a Tuesday, a wet one.
Been in the garage again, these smellies,
I heard them coughing between the tyres;
the doors have more scratches than Gran`s glasses.
The postman, an outsider to the human race, must
have let them in. Send em back to Egypt, these purrers.
That was Thursday; better weather.
The cats must have killed him.
As brave streeters we lined up at the funeral.
We all slightly lifted a leg in his honour, without scorn.
Might have been a Friday, but I`m not sure now.
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