Three cats for sale in the Exchange and Mart.
Two are quite reliable, the other just won’t start.
I took all three, got my pal to pay.
On the way out one of the reliable cats left a deposit on a parrot.
The man was disgusted.
And you should have heard the parrots language.
For two years the cat that wouldn’t start had waited for a lost love to reappear.
They were circus cats.
The lost love never appeared and the act was discarded.
After that the cat had no reason to start.
Weeks later after the cat had settled in and it’s two friends had run off, we had a lovely chat.
“I don’t want you to start – and I don’t want to mend your heart
But I know that one day,
You will meet and love, and even be smitten.
And then you’ll start every morning and purr like a kitten.”
He scratched me right up me arm, in a lovely cat way.
I can still feel the claws as they left a reminder about cats and claws, and learning a lesson about helping to put a cat
in a basket, and how close you can come to losing your sense of humour and an eye.
I went back for the parrot. Guilt? Call it what you will. But it’s real name wasn’t guilt.
I saw it in its cage, it was in the window, it was in its cage in the window. It was angry in a rage in its cage in
I said “do you want to come home with me? Do you want to come home with me?”
It said “No, and don’t take the Piss.”