Cat The Con Artist Poem by Mark R Slaughter

And so the cat sat on the mat,
Overseeing all he owned.
He patronised the house's tat,
Then further scowled as he bemoaned

The junk we dumped into his bowl!
'Where's my Angus, warm and rare? '
He glared aloof then took a stroll
To seek anew some proper fare -

And prostitute himself next door.
See him rolling, purring slyly -
And acting out the role of wh*re;
Those clever eyes now cooing wryly.

They also think he's never fed:
'Poor little mite – he gets no break.
Now come and sleep upon our bed -
We're off to grill your fillet steak.

Those callous neighbours don't deserve
You loving ginger feline friend.
Now in the future we'll reserve
A warming bed and beef to mend

Your lonely soul and hungry tum.'
So he gets his just delight,
And having conned his neighbour chum,
He's off again to tout his plight!


Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2009