Luke and Consetta

I’m bored! I’m hungry! I want to play!

But you’re not clean. You’re in my way.

Pushover, shoveover, I want to turn round,

It’s my special warmplace so cleverly found.

Stop pawing, stop snoring, stop looking at me

With that stare and that fur it’s too much to bear.

Those chattering teeth sound awfully mean

Giving next to no hope to that bird in your dream.

Your whiskers are flexing, and flinching and wincing,

Your cheeks are all chunksome, and furry and even.

Even your nose is just, I suppose,

Just right for a cat, a bit rounded and flat.

Now you are quiet and resting together

Is there hope that tomorrow you’ll be catfriends for ever?

For Luke and Consetta

It’s always much better

To give into pleasure and sleep on your tummy

Thinking nice thoughts of you and your mummy.

Pleasure beyond measure, the pleasure of sleep

With your heads buried deep, deep on your tum

Or close to your bum. For whatever you’ve seen,

Or whatever it means,

What matters to you is only your dreams.