And so the cat sat on the mat, <br />Overseeing all he owned. <br />He patronised the house's tat, <br />Then further scowled as he bemoaned <br /> <br />The junk we dumped into his bowl! <br />'Where's my Angus, warm and rare? ' <br />He glared aloof then took a stroll <br />To seek anew some proper fare - <br /> <br />And prostitute himself next door. <br />See him rolling, purring slyly - <br />And acting out the role of wh*re; <br />Those clever eyes now cooing wryly. <br /> <br />They also think he's never fed: <br />'Poor little mite – he gets no break. <br />Now come and sleep upon our bed - <br />We're off to grill your fillet steak. <br /> <br />Those callous neighbours don't deserve <br />You loving ginger feline friend. <br />Now in the future we'll reserve <br />A warming bed and beef to mend <br /> <br />Your lonely soul and hungry tum.' <br />So he gets his just delight, <br />And having conned his neighbour chum, <br />He's off again to tout his plight! <br /> <br /> <br />Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2009<br /><br />Mark R Slaughter<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cat-the-con-artist/
