A Poem For Pussycats

The Adventures of Smog

Poor dowdy Smog was an underrated mog,

Much maligned by the neighbourhood yobs

By men walking by in shiny shoes and shirts

Too busy to notice, checking their Facebook alerts

Trailing dogs all well coiffured and smug

Cocker-Poos, Shih Tzu's, Chihuahua's and Pugs.

A post-war pussycat

Whiskers bent out of shape

The cat that hissed

As you walked by his gate

The cat everyone conveniently forgot to feed

That jumped on your head

When you'd had too much Mead

With fur of patchy, uninspiring grey

That reminded you of a wet summers day

And a limp, depressing, inexpressive tail

That spoke to you of the old and the frail.

He sat on his post watching day after day

As the seconds of his life drifted slowly away.

* That was meant to be a Co.cker-Poo

(Cross between a Co.cker Spaniel and a Poodle)



So it was, on a driveway in June

Smog faked his own death

Under a large strawberry full moon

Slipping unnoticed into the backseat of a Jaguar

(Considered by cats, the cat-nip version of Caviar)

He snuggled on the backseat, disguised as a bag of fur

And when the engine hit ninety, started to purrrr

Then in some luggage he stowed discreetly away

Arriving at the airport the very next day.

Poor Smog had never had a home of his own

Now he found himself wandering the courtyards in Rome

Being fed up by kindly nuns and priests

Delicious tomatoey-bolognaise-meatball feasts

Whilst spending time with cats in the Vatican

He learnt not to think "cat-he-can't"

But that "cat-he-can!"

He didn't feel unloved and eternally downbeat,

Now he had respect and something to eat

So he started an organisation for waifs and strays

And spent his time converting for the rest of his days

A little something he liked to call "cattitude"

Which consisted of 1 part cat and 3 parts attitude!

When at last he had travelled the world

And the mysteries of the Universe had been unfurled

An announcement went around that old Smog had died

There was a National Day of Mourning

Everyone cried.

"I'd never heard of a cat wanting to fly"

Choked Mrs Fawcett, a tear in her eye

"He went to Moscow, Australia, Japan and Dubai

Now were unexpectedly saying goodbye"

"I would have loved him come scratch at my front door"

"He was always generous, always lending a paw"

"He should have won the Nobel Peace Prize, that's for sure!"

"Although weathered and rather too fat,

I will really miss that inspirational cat"

And on his gravestone it simply reads:

(Once you push away the grass and overgrown weeds)

Here lies Smog - A Simply Marvellous Old Gentleman