So he was sleeping on my left cause Raebert was on my right, and I happened to say to my wife, how come all cat poems are bad? For example:
Da Cat
There was a cat.
He was fat.
Nobody liked that.
Nobody wanted that.
Fat was bad,
And so bad was cat.
Da End.
When Elliott woke up.
Somewhat agitated. Actually, he was kind of mad.
You know how cats lie on papers and books. He was sitting on a dog-eared (or was it cat-chewed) version of the light humorous works of that great comedian T.S. Elliott.
I hate it when he steals my reading glasses. Always screws up the temple pieces.
“Ever read this?” He asked.
Rum Tum Tigger is a Curious Cat:
If you offer him pleasant he would rather have rough,
If you give him a bed he would much prefer not.
If you offer him soft, He’ll pick all that’s tough.
If you show him a deerhound, he signs on the dot.
If you show him a Scotty, he laughs just enough.
If you’d rather have stupids, you’ve no need of me.
No excerpts from “Cats” tonight. Elliott is still the king of the township.