Choo-Choo Blues

 

Snoozing and schmoozing,

catnip-whiskered and bleary-eyed,

through salmon flavoured days

and mackerel scented nights.

 

Some mornings,

after stretching and yawning,

it feels like I'm chasing my own tail;

like this alley's going nowhere

and this trash can is a jail.

 

So I walk into my wardrobe

of white turtleneck sweaters,

take down the sardine can

of Miss Tabitha's letters.

 

She's the sweet silver tabby who haunts every dream.

She makes me feel like the cat that got the cream

 

but I'm not like T.C. or Fancy

when it comes to romance.

I'm more at home in the pool hall

than I am in her pants.

 

The phone rings shrill and chilled as snow

so Benny the Ball takes the call:

some hoodlums with blue 5 o'clock shadow

acting suspicious at the mall.

 

Here comes Officer Dibble

(Manhattan's Hermann Göring).

He keeps trying to run us in

but he'll never stop us purring.

 

He tries his best to keep us down

but he'll never stop us purring...

 

B.R. 24/07/2016