Welcome to my poetry: Mulder the Poacher!

Mulder (and his sister Scully!) have been with us for ten years! They were so tiny when my daughter fetched them from a local farm they both fit into her hand!

'Who you looking at?'

Over the years Scully has become a stay-at-home-bod whereas Mulder disappears in the morning and we don’t usually see him again till night-time unless he brings home the spoils!

Today’s poem was inspired by T.S.Eliot’s Cat Morgan Introduces Himself from Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats of which Macavity has to be my favourite!

'No rabbits up here!'

       Mulder the Poacher

I’m Mulder the poacher and rabbit’s me game,

I’m nimble and sleek and I leave little trace,

I’m camouflaged so as to not get the blame,

Though if it turns wet I’m a proper disgrace.

Me shoulders are broad, I’m more brawny than brains,

I avoids them keepers of game and their guns,

You should ‘ear them poor rabbits’ dying refrains

As I nabs ‘em out of their warrens and runs.

They struggles and squeals as I drags ‘em all ‘ome,

Through the briars where goose grass clings to me coat,

I keep to the ‘edges where not many dare roam,

And squeeze through where netting entangles me throat.

I’m silvery grey, with black markings so neat,

Me whiskers they twitches, me eyes misses nowt,

I’m a pacifist Tom, with huge tiger feet, 

To those I encounter, a bit of a lout.

After poaching all day it’s now time to feast,

Me catch is more tasty than meat in a pouch,

Me mistress she says, I’m a bit of a beast,

When I wanders in stuffed and sleeps on the couch.

Them fleas is a bit of a nuisance, a pest,

But itches and scratches, they’m part of me fame,

It’s spring, and the time for a real bunny fest,

I’m Mulder the poacher, and rabbit’s me game!

'I'm whacked!'

 Thanks for your time!

The Leebotwood Poet xx