The Family Cat

(Funny Poems)

The family cat, it died the day

That everybody was away.

When they got home, they were distraught,

Because it was an after thought

To check it, so they did not find

The furry corpse it left behind

Until it had been dead awhile.

No rub, no purr, no cheerful smile.

Though deeply grieved, they did not sit,

Instead they thought to bury it.

The woman dug the shallow grave,

The boy, one final farewell gave,

Then laid its lifeless body down

Into the damp earth, cold and brown.

The woman, bent to cover up

The cat, encountered one hiccup,

The overlooked forgotten sin,

Of rigor mortis setting in.

And though poor puss was unaware,

His stiffened tail stood in the air

In homage to the terminal;

A stark and forlorn sentinel.

The woman cried and tried in vain

To lay the cats tail down again,

Until so wracked with grief, and sick,

She wedged it ‘neath a garden brick.

The boy was taken by a fit,

The woman first thought grief was it,

But on a closer look she found

Him laughing, writhing on the ground.

“You horrid child, your cat has died,

You shouldn’t laugh at that!” she cried.

But still he laughed, hysterical,

He found her antics comical.

The woman, still to end her task

To put the cat to rest at last,

So angry with the boy that she

Attacked to job ferociously.

And muttered to herself the while;

What horrid boy could be so vile?

How could he err so callously?

To find such mirth in tragedy?

But still he laughed until he cried,

The woman hot and fuming tried

To finish planting puss away,

That done, she had some words to say.

“You stop that laughing now! You hear?”

She took the poor boy by the ear

And cracked him ‘cross his curly dome,

“Just wait until your father’s home!”

With that, she marched him to the house

To wait for her expected spouse.

That night the household would resound

With screeches, laughter, round and round,

The story swinging to and fro

From tales of mirth, to grief and woe

As one another did regale

The story of the dead cats tail.

But down the bottom of the hill,

A little mound of dirt there still,

With time and wind and weathering,

The garden brick’s uncovering!

Oh may we never see the day

When earth and brick erode away,

Exposing such a grievous view,

Of resurrected tail anew!

By – Stringybark