Keith The Cat Burglar Poem by Mary Champion

I tell the tale of Keith,
an antipodean cat.
This feline is a thief
who hunts no mouse or rat.

Instead, he likes to sneak
around the neighbourhood,
pretending to be meek
but never doing good.

Each morning, by the door,
his servants find he's placed
the spoils he's hunted for,
the trophies that he's chased.

It might be a trainer
or slimy, squirmy eel,
a bag of snow white powder -
part of some dodgy deal.

 
It's awkward to predict
what he will bring back next
and some things he has nicked
can leave you quite perplexed.

One time he brought a bong -
a thing for smoking weed,
that brought the cops along
but they could not succeed

in getting Keith to talk, -
he buttoned up his lip.
They watched him like a hawk
but he gave them the slip.

He's keen on working boots-
the kind his neighbour wears.
He often brings them home,
though not always in pairs.

But not all of his tastes
are wholesome I'm afraid,
and he has brought disgrace
that leaves his friends dismayed.

Some saucy silken pants
and black beribboned bras
bedeck the garden plants
or trail across the grass.

The servants do their best
to return them whence they came
but Keith can't be repressed
and he steals them all again.