The Taming of the Shrew
overtaken by cats, usurped by
To Kill a Mockingbird

There was a day I thought that

The pet we kept was not a rat

But a shrew-

Who knew…..oh well,

What the hell.

It was cute and awfully sweet

With big pink ears and tiny feet,

Or paws, I guess.

But it was the tail that threw me I confess.

Siberian gerbil or Nubian mouse

It mattered not the “Out of the house!’

Alas, the shrew, or rather the rat,

was espied by the neighbouring cat

Well….that was that.

I now keep birds,

Who chirp and sing in minor thirds.

Songs without words,

they can sometimes turn the milk to curds.

Bloody birds.

It would be a cinch

to take a finch and feed them to the cat.

Wouldn’t she like that.

But drat!

That would be just too mean.

There must be something les sang-froid I could glean.

My conscience pricks.

Perhaps I’ll just use sharpened sticks

then roast them on their skewer,

and after a luncheon they’re would be fewer,

by a major third, singing

bringing

quietude and equipoise.

And any left over could be froze

for another meal.

By God I feel

I will do this because I can.

It’s a plan!