.
It was only a two stone cat,
Now what do you think about that?
If it sat on your lap,
Both your femurs would snap.
It was twenty-eight pounds of pure fat.
Its owners would feed it on fish,
Which they placed every day in its dish.
Where it scoffed up the lot,
And then sat on its spot,
“Can I have some more food please,” it hissed.
It gave them those big droopy eyes,
Which caused both its owners to sigh.
So, they headed on down,
To the Petco in town,
And came back with a stack of cow pies.
And so, every day about three,
They gave him a pie for his tea.
It worked for a while,
As they started to smile,
They thought they had cured him you see.
But the cat’s hunger pangs wouldn’t cease,
Its owners denied any peace.
He weighed ninety-two pounds,
When the Vet called around,
And informed them their cat was obese.
He said, “I’d best look after him,”
So, he took him along to the gym.
Where he sharpened his claws,
On the parallel bars,
In a couple of weeks, he was slim.
So, if you’ve a cat, then beware,
When feeding it, take extra care,
Or for certain you’ll get,
Deep in debt with the Vet,
And I’m sure you don’t want to go there.
.
.
Jeff Eardley lives in the heart of England near to the Peak District National Park and is a local musician playing guitar, mandolin and piano steeped in the music of America, including the likes of Ry Cooder, Paul Simon, and particularly Hank Williams.
Jeff, I just fed our newly svelte George. As he enjoyed his turkey with gravy, I read your amazing tribute to George’s rehabilitation aloud to him. I’m sure that his purring was louder than usual, and now I have to see if I can hunt down some cow pies.
Mike, a word of caution. Slivers of horn from the Cow pie may lodge in his lower intestine, resulting in a trip to the vet and an expensive Catscan. You have been warned.
George Lionel is easy like Sunday morning after dancing on the ceiling all night long. He’s read your poem and asked for a set of purrallel bars – truly! He knows he’s once, twice, three times the kitty he was.
Jeff – thank you for the Friday giggle. This fun poem has the Mike, Susan & George Lionel seal of approval
A cat may have four or five claws,
Sitting there at the end of his paws.
But I found out this Summer,
The use of the comma’s
A pause at the end of a clause.
Mr. Eardley, when it comes to humour – you are the cat’s whiskers, pyjamas and meow all rolled into one!
It seems that your cat had good luck –
stroking out he has given a duck.
Now his skin isn’t tight,
for surmounting his plight,
he could do with a good ….. nip and tuck.
Thanks for the read, Jeff. And, er, I wouldn’t read this one to George Lionel, Mike.
True, George thinks he’s beautiful as is.
Thanks for your comment young Paul.
Your verse never fails to enthrall.
The rhymes you devise,
Are like warm apple pies.
Rather sweet, but not sickly at all.
Thanks Paul, comment is below.
Jeff, I read your jaunty anapestic cat tale with much enjoyment. I’m glad to hear that George Lionel is back to his slinky old self.
Thanks David. I’m sure he won’t retain his slinkiness when Mike starts feeding him Cow pies.
Warning:
In my neck of the woods, a cow pie is something the cow leaves behind that you wish you hadn’t stepped in !
DO NOT – NEVER – OFFER A CAT A COW PIE !!
Unthinkable.
Sally… you just saved George from a disgusting culinary experience. I wonder if it could have left him catatonic.
Sally, the Cow Pie was the favourite meal of UK cartoon character Desperate Dan, so tough his pillow was filled with rubble and he shaved with a blowtorch. Over here, your cow pie is known as a cow pat, many of which I have stepped into.
Love the poem about the fat cat. I have one that cost a lot to take to the vet. She loves her food and will not go back to the vet. She will start going to the gym and will become slim. Thank you for a delightful poem.
Norma, thanks for the kind words with hope that yours will soon be Catapulted to celebrity to join George Lionel on the Catwalk
To all cat lovers:
George looks to be the sort of cat
That never steps in a cow pat.
.If by mistake he were to make
A close encounter by mistake,
I recommend four overshoes,
cat size. My New York cat would use
These little aids – when being aired –
From further problems he was spared,
From dirty sidewalks, spared was he —
Avoiding all cat-astrophe !
PS – But when we left Manhattan, our cat, who had never before seen grass, was terrified, and i had to get down on hands and knees and crawl throuigh it, uttering soothing sounds of “nice grass. Good grass ! See?
Sally, another great poem for George. I hope he appreciates all the hard work involved. I will bet that there was grass, and cow pats in Manhattan when the Dutch flogged it off to we English for peanuts.
Things were better then for cats
And skunks and mongeese, even rats.
And dare I say us human folk?
Believe me, this is not a joke!
My cat soon toughened up. He was
A creature clad in spot and fuzz
.He ruled all creatures on our street
For nineteen years. He was a sweet
And grey-tailed being who could sing —
The cat-alyst in everything.
Delightfully humorous! I’m so glad that this group of serious poets doesn’t take itself so seriously as to frown on a merry series of limericks (and lots of fun and amusing responses)!
Cynthia, thank you. We English can no longer take ourselves seriously, particularly with Boris in charge and the inability to trounce Scotland at football (or soccer as you may know it) Best wishes to you and yours.
Renowned Madame Deshoulieres,
Whose Christian name was Antoinette,
Wrote verses for her cat, Grisette.
To Jeff she might say, “What a rare
Amusing ode burlesque to set
Before the Bryants with great flair!”
Thank you Margaret, any comment from you is always a treasure of information. George is a very lucky cat indeed. Thank you.