The Wise and Friendly badger

You see them in the stories; they’re always very wise.

With gravitas, with patience and with kind and caring eyes.

They steer the woodland animals away from foolish errors,

They keep the mice and rabbits and the hedgehogs from all terrors.

Their guidance is unparallelled, their insight quite astounding,

Their sense of fairness most advanced, their qualities abounding.

Their homes are neat and cosy, their habits most fastidious,

Their entertainment perfect as each one’s a host punctilious.

The other forest creatures know that these beasts can be trusted.

They’ll sit and tell their troubles in a cottage highly dusted.

But if you see a badger as you walk out in the twilight

A rustle in a hedgerow and a peek of black and bright white,

Don’t tell it all your problems!  Don’t expect it to be nice.

It will tear your sodding throat out without even thinking twice!

 

The topic for this was chosen by a Twitter friend, Sian Ifans () and I’d like to thank her for it because it was a lot of fun.

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Life With Cats

Life with cats is full of chaos,

Life with cats is scratched to bits.

Life with cats is quite unruly

‘Cause they’re little shits.

 

Food near cats is far too tempting,

Food near cats invites a paw.

Food near cats is often stolen

Then they meow for more!

 

Things near cats are ripe for chewing,

Things near cats are ruined fast,

Things near cats are never sacred

And they never last.

 

Nights with cats aren’t made for sleeping,

Nights with cats have noisy play.

Nights with cats have hourly meowing

Then they sleep all day!

 

Time with cats is full of snuggles,

Time with cats is filled with licks.

Time with cats is marked by purrs,

That’s why we keep the pricks.1438785725532

The Animal Pun Poem

Behold the bird, how still he sits

Outside in many weathers.

Such trivia as rain and wind

Will ruffle not his feathers.

Behold the sleepy pussy cat,

Reflecting, as he ought,

On thorough cleaning of his claws,

They give him paws for thought.

Behold the thrifty tortoise

As his spending causes doubt.

He fails to see the wisdom of

The trend for shelling out.

Behold the mighty elephant,

Most popular of all.

As every time you see him

He’s receiving a trunk call.

Behold the spawning salmon.

Just watch him jump and go,

He hopes to line his offspring

In a little fishy roe.

Behold the yappy little pup

Pretending to be tough.

But really he is scared of everything

Which can be rather ruff.

Behold the cheeky chimpanzees,

In trousers, shoes and sweaters.

The only reason for these clothes

Is just to ape their betters.

Is

Wild

He runs along the verge, his tail hung down,
His fur reflecting red beneath the moon,
Home neither in the country nor the town.
He hurries lest the day should come too soon.
Light steals all prospects of a hearty meal;
A tender pullet or a careless hare.
He begs the wind such off’rings to reveal.
That he might snatch and carry to his lair.
Yet, many days his belly only sees
The stretching hours of starving fretful rest,
With nothing that his hunger would appease.
These are the times that form the wild thing’s test.
Unending seem the nights for such as he;
Such is the price to pay for being free.

The Weird Cat

She’d been a weird cat since she’d first arrived, squeezing her way past the children’s legs one day as they came in from school. “Can we keep it?” they’d begged their mum, but she’d told them that this was somebody else’s cat and lifted it out onto the path, where it sat until the door was opened again before attempting entry once more. The girls had made posters advertising ‘FOUND CAT’, complete with a photo, but it’s hard to tell one black cat from another, especially in a grainy print. No owner had come forward and, day after day, the cat came back with little encouragement from the girls’ mum but secret treats and lots of cuddles from the youngsters. Eventually, it was tacitly accepted that she was now the family cat; a bed was bought and two bowls for food and drink. They named her Clinker and they loved her.

There was no doubt that she was getting on in years; her belly was flabby, the tip of her tail was flattened and hung at an odd angle, she had strange flecks in both eyes and she never meowed, although she often purred. The whole family made a fuss of her, but nobody pretended that she wasn’t weird. She would sit on the window sill, her back to the outside world, watching the room like a small, furry guardian. If anybody got up to leave, she would watch them until they were out of sight before resuming her original stance, rarely blinking, even more rarely sleeping. Most un-cat-like.

Clinker wasn’t very graceful for a cat either. She had an ungainly walk and would frequently fall from the furniture, righting herself as she hit the floor and continuing as though nothing had happened. The one time she displayed anything like the expected amount of feline agility was when she did the weirdest thing of all; whenever she crossed from the rug in front of the fire to head into the kitchen, she would walk in a wide arc, hugging the furniture until she reached the chair closest to the door, whereupon she would leap delicately as though she were clearing a small hurdle. The first time she’d done it, the family had laughed at her odd ways and had subsequently tried to fathom what made her do it. They’d tried moving the lamp in case a stray shadow was causing the cat’s confusion but it made no difference; over time the furniture was rearranged slightly, but she still followed roughly the same path and always ended with a little leap. It was part of her charm.

As the girls grew older, Clinker’s fur sprouted stray white hairs and she looked a little scrawny about the haunches, but she would still sit and survey the room with her almost unblinking gaze, never once facing the outside world. She enjoyed curling up in a lap, rumbling like a fur-covered Geiger counter and there was never a shortage of willing laps. All in all, it was a good life.

It was approaching winter when the burglary happened. As the family lay sleeping, their mother woke to a strange sound. Somewhere, a cat was mewing loudly and a bitter draught rattled under her bedroom door. She thought the girls might have left a window open, as they sometimes did; perhaps a local cat had climbed in, but as she opened her door to go and check, she saw a dark figure halfway up the stairs, or down – it was difficult to know which way they were heading in the gloom – and she cried out and flailed for the light switch. The burglar ran down the stairs and headed through the dining room and into the living room, making for the open back door through which he had forced an entrance.

He’d clearly spent some time in the living room, looking for valuables that didn’t exist, as every drawer of the dresser had been emptied onto the floor and the cushions from the suite had been tossed, as though someone might hide money or jewels in the furniture. The burglar stepped onto some letters and skidded a little before taking a wild step to try and right himself. He hadn’t accounted, however, for the now silent black cat prowling in the only spaces left unsullied and as his foot landed on the flattened end of her tail, she hissed and lashed out with deadly accuracy, raking her claws across his leg. He fell with a crash, catching his chin on the dresser and was already unconscious as he hit the floor. As he lay like a dead man near the kitchen door, Clinker sidled up to him and leapt in a graceful arc over the vanquished intruder, as though clearing a small hurdle.

Dawn Bats

They came as though from nowhere,

Melting into existence,

Wisps of grey against the silver streaks,

Wheeling and tumbling,

Bats returning at dawn.

Silent in the overhead, they catch the eye

And keep it until they’re gone.

Vanishing in the same arcane way.

As time paints over the silver with gold and blue,

Leaving me standing.

Staring at the sky.

Easter Bunny

I hate the Easter Bunny!

I hate his bunny face!

I hate the way he bounces

And hops about the place!

I hate his giant bunny teeth.

I hate his furry paws!

I hate the ways he digs the lawn,

I hate the way he gnaws!

I hate his pink and twitchy nose,

I hate his floppy ears!

I’ll hate him ’til the day I die,

I’ve hated him for years!

I hate his giant thumping feet

That always leave a trail.

I hate the shiny bow he wears,

I hate his fluffy tail.

I hate his spindly, waving arms,

I hate his stringy legs.

But most of all I hate the way

He NEVER brings me eggs!