I was minding my feline business,
just checking the territory,
beating the bounds of my own little patch,
and seeing what I could see,
when suddenly I was set upon
by an interloper tom
who, after some caterwauling,
went and bit me on the bum.

Well of course it's all gone painful
so it needs a regular lick,
but the stuff that's coming out of it
is making me feel quite sick.
So I'm sitting in the corner
just keeping away from strife
and they cart me off to the vetman!
Well, a cat needs a quiet life!

I hate that basket anyway,
that's the thing I'm in, not the man,
but now that you've heard me mention it,
I hate him all I can.
Just when I'm feeling so grotty
and all I need is a rest,
they hoick me into this wicker thing
cos they think they know what's best.

And what does the vetman offer?
He gives me a one-tooth bite,
then puts this thing around my neck
so there's no way I can fight.
But it also stops me licking,
and the wound feels sore as hell,
and I need to wash myself all day
or soon I'll begin to smell.

So here I am – I'm a light-bulb,
with a lampshade round my neck,
and all the other cats I see
will think I'm a total wreck.
But tho I am a light-bulb
my shine is pretty dim,
and if this is me forever,
it's going to be awfully grim!

But I must admit that where I was bit
I'm feeling a bit improved,
and I still can't wait for that wonderful time
when my collar at last is removed.
But tho I hate the vetman
it isn't so far to roam
and after he's done his vetman thing
they always bring me home.

9/11/09 (Written for Chis Rickard)

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