I had a cat, a tough little geezer
found him on a dump, inside an old freezer,
he was cold and hungry and as wet as a puddle
and the least I could do was give him a cuddle.
I stretched in, to save him from harm
and the little bugger, he bit my arm!
I knew he was frightened
so I forgave him this sin,
but then his claws, sank into my skin.
I called him a name
which he couldn\'t keep
as his claws sank, ever deep
and hissing and spitting, he stood his ground
so I had to concede, this very first round!
I closed the lid on the old freezer
consigning to the dark, that tough little geezer,
but he wasn\'t going to win, I was coming back
and I\'d be carrying, a very big sack!
I opened the lid as careful as could be
and he crouched in the shadow, looking at me,
he was ready to spring, I could tell
and if I messed this up, I was heading for hell!!
I readied the sack for the big surprise
as he crouched there watching, with hate filled eyes,
I made a movement as if to attack
and he leapt straight at me, and into the sack!
\"Gotcha!\" I cried, with a grin.
\" This is round two, and I think I win!\"
I got him home, and laid the sack on the floor
opened the neck and walked for the door,
but he shot from the sack like a bullet from a gun
and I made the decision,
I\'M GONNA\' RUN!!!
I cowered outside the kitchen door
as he raced around from ceiling to floor,
pots flying and plates going crash
in a headlong, wild, ferocious dash!
I left him there for an hour or more
and then listened quietly at the door.....
not a sound, nothing stirred,
no hissing or spitting to be heard.
\" He\'s calmed down.\" I thought, with a grin.
\" Looks like this is a battle I\'m going to win.\"
I peeked carefully around the kitchen door
and surveyed the chaos on the floor,
I reminded myself, he was only a kitten,
even though he\'d spat,scratched and bitten!
\" C\'mon cat, you\'re no longer alone,
I\'m here to offer you a nice warm home,
plenty to eat and a post to claw
and your very own flap, in the kitchen door.\"
Sixteen years we stayed together
and he always remained a tough little fella,
held his own with the cats on the street
and a braver moggie you\'d never meet.
He hated to be patted, stroked or scratched
but he loved to just sit, and doze in my lap
but occasionally he\'d look up at me, as if giving a grin
and then he\'d jump up, and lick my chin.
In his sixteenth year he called it a day,
but, before he laid down and passed away,
he gave a final act of pure grace,
and climbed onto my lap, and licked my face.
doctorm