THE NIGHT MALE.
And once more that bloody tomcat has done for me again:
Another visitation bringing nostril tearing pain.
My front door covered with profusely applied pollution;
Concentrated vapours fill the house without dilution.
Because he’s got the hots for the moggy across the road,
This way he marks territory - it’s his warning in code.
And so he hopes to keep every other rival at bay
Whereas all I just want to do is send this rogue away.
I would like to hose the door right now but it’s well past ten;
The woman across the road is bound to call the cops then.
She holds tiresome grudges and I’m the focus of her ire;
My hint re her pet and the vet really unleashed her fire.
But there’s more to this than discomfort from a reeking smell
Undeniably this is also a message from hell.
Not just limits laid, this odour is an advisory
Of long nights completely broken by howling lechery.
I cannot care which lusty feline does the aria;
I must do something drastic, like move to Tasmania.
Although if some lateral thinking were brought into play
Then perhaps a more local response could just win the day:
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The decline of the circus is a modern phenomenon;
As a result I’ve acquired Neville, a tired old lion.
Nev now gets to lie on my verandah – with never a roar;
He’s inclined to grunt scratch and yawn a bit but covers my door.
The Council, Health, the R.S.P.C.A. the zoo and Police
All questioned me, but with randy ginger gone now I have peace.
Three joint meetings they’ve held, however without resolution,
So this may mean Neville provides a definite solution…..