Purrsday Poetry – Mother Come Dine With me

Mother Come Dine With me

Mother, mother come dine with me
There’s plenty to eat and it’s fine with me
The cat food is tasty, the kibbles divine
And this dish of water is nectar and wine
Mother I’m big now but you are still small
I need you to look up to. This won’t do at all

My son, my wild child, I would dine with you
But it’s such a dangerous thing to do
There’s perils await inside the back door
My little cat nerves can take it no more
The plastic bags rustle the tin foil crunches
Too many times they have spoiled our lunches
The pots and the pans they clang and they crash
So out of the kitchen I fearfully dash

But Mother you told me inside was better
Than outside where it’s colder and darker and wetter
You told me the humans would treat us so kindly
Was I such a fool to believe you so blindly?

Hush, my son. Did I hear the word treaty?
They’re really crunchy and really meaty.
I’m coming dear human please wait for me
Put a few more on the plate for me
Now don’t call your mother a hypocrite
But I do like it inside, well, just a bit

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15 thoughts on “Purrsday Poetry – Mother Come Dine With me

  1. Carla Neeley Freitag says:

    I hardly ever read the poetry, but your title caught my eye. I’m glad I didn’t miss your charming poem and beautiful kitties.

  2. Claret says:

    Hi there. I’m Clare and I wrote the poem about my two cats, Nina the tabby and her son Freddie, the black cat. They were living under my garden table in the harsh winter of 2008 when I took them. Freddie was born feral. Nina is still very nervous and gets periods when she won’t come in. She loves Dreamies, we call them Treaties, so we tempt her in with them.

    • Marc-André says:

      Apologies WordPress appears to have cut off the author credits for some bizarre reasons. I’ll have to dig this out on my laptop tomorrow as it’s a bit fiddly on the phone to fix. 😡

      • David Fox says:

        Clare,
        Interesting. I automatically thought Freddie was the mother because he is so much bigger. Shows you can’t jump to conclusions. Good poem, I liked it very much.
        ~David Fox.

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