THE 3 LIMERICKS OF FLUFFY AND THE FRIDGE

Of course a poem like this deserves a picture of Fluffy in situ, but she doesn't (or perhaps refuses to) understand posing, and these were the best she'd consent to.

THE 3 LIMERICKS OF FLUFFY AND THE FRIDGE

Whenever I open our ‘fridge door,
She runs up meowing loudly for more
Her old owner, long passed,
Treated her to repasts,
That our Fluffy once did so adore. 

Once again she pleads “Meow?” without telling.
My dear Fluff, there is no need for yelling,
I’d be bug in your ear
If you’d just tell me dear
What memory could it be that you’re smelling?

Is it fish or some milk, or some stinky old cheese?
Time and time and again you’ve had these,
Yet each time you turn nose
Thinking what no one knows,
My dear Fluff, could you just tell me please?

NONSENSE WITH PANTS.

Yesterday I went to the library and found a big fat green collection of Edward Lear.
This was the result.

NONSENSE WITH PANTS

There once was a man who never went out.
“If you keep sitting there,” said his friend, “they’ll wear out,
Those pants are not made for just sitting around in.
Fine fabric needs air, Sir, not a constant bum groundin’.”

Yet the man did not move until late afternoon,
Then the words of his friend filled him dreading with gloom.

“How do I know what state these old drawers just might be in,
With my ass underneath, there is no way of seein’.
What I need’s a hand mirror, then I can rightly see 'em,
Then I’ll know if they need patchin', sewin', or mendin.’”

So he looked all about for his private hand mirror,
Yet as he could not find it, he got worked up in a fear, or….

He thought to ask his friend.
“Have you seen my hand mirror?”
“Yes, I put it on the lawn, at the end of the steps.”
"?”

Without pondering more he walked out to the door,
Then he walked down the steps, grabbed the mirror and saw…

“They look fine,” he said.
His friend stood in the door.
“You’ll admit you’re outside now, you’re wearing your pants.
There to fore, as I said, and I state, ‘they’re worn out.’”