Monday, 4 November 2019

Alas, Poor Claude!

I have been mis-sold a faulty cat
And one other, 
A/f or ‘as seen’.
It is much older than was claimed
By the charity, who said it was nine,
When in fact it’s fourteen.
It has rather worn out teeth,
And its heart has a gallop,
So needless to say, 
It is not a cat that ‘gallops about doing good’,
Though it hails from Hull, via ‘Hull Animal Welfare’,
It has nothing of Stevie Smith’s famous character about it,
It may once have scratched an angel, though I doubt it,
It just lies beneath a chair,
In desperate need of repair,
And never does anything funny,
Sans energy even enough to be mean
To its brother, 
And it doesn’t move when called, 
It’s had a stroke,
And I don't mean an angel reached down and made it go bald,
I mean it couldn't walk and its brain was all foggy,
It is the most anaemic cat the vet has ever met
And cannot produce a red blood cell
For love or money.
And when I rang the charity and asked for pity,
They just said, ‘tough titty,
You knew it was no spring kitty,
Just a shitty old moggy
Caveat emptor, and all that!’

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