Welcome, 
Candice cat is a cat of means,
which often means
being extremely mean to mice,
and believe me the rodents
have learnt to steer well away,
even a tasty Irish cheddar
won't tempt them, except in winter
when they draw straws
behind grandfather's clock.
The 'losers' tossed nimbly into air
before reaching backdoor stair,
cries shushed with a brushing tail,
a fine whisker away from cheesed grail,
letting them think they've escaped,
but alas they never do;
Candice is just too accomplished.
She watches their eyes bulge
as paws slice heads deliberately
in 4/4 time of a conductor, leaving the ears
which are spat out black tobacco later,
a little sadistic streak her fur has,
it's in the dark hair roots.
Candice prizes tinned sardines
with stiffened mice tails
instead of regular pull-rings,
and other ingenious feline things,
she listens to Mozart on the garden wall
when the neighbour plays piano,
with eyes half closed, all a purr,
claws practising timing.
Her lair is clothed with fragile bones,
wizened frogs' legs, undigested kidneys
and other very strange business,
with an upturned plastic bowl
that presents, in pastel letters
"Candice, my sweet kitty."
THIS my dear is c l e v e r.
