Cat
The other day, upon the stair
I met a cat who wasn’t there.
She wasn’t there again today.
I wish that cat would come and play.
Her body length is long and thin,
and so is her bewhiskered grin.
She never ever stops to play.
she wasn’t there again today.
I’m being very, very good.
I wash her bowl and give her food
and she cleans her bowl of every dish,
eggs and bacon, cheese and fish,
but never ever stops to play.
She wasn’t there again today.
That cat builds castles, tall and neat.
I see the prints of her little feet.
Her kitty litter fills up fast.
I clean it when I’m walking past.
But she never ever stops to play
and wasn’t there again today.
I put nice cat food in her bowl,
but I never saw her, poor lost soul.
I’m sure she’s only teasing me,
never, ever pleasing me,
I want to hug her and to play,
but she wasn’t there again today.
rogermoorepoet 
I really like this little poem, Roger. Survived the crash. Tricky recovery.
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It has lots of borrowings and deep roots. Echoes of my childhood …
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Ah Roger I have missed you and your cats. My cat is fine, I am still the King, of course.
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Mr. Cake: after all we have been through with world rugby and the recent sevens … I went AWOL, but I am so glad to be back. Great to hear from you. Keep in touch. Clare went to Ottawa for two weeks to see our granddaughter. I filled the cat bowl, it emptied. I emptied the kitty litter, it filled. I never saw the cat, not for two weeks.
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Cats!
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