That small black cat was out of luck that day.
Eight lives gone when it got in the way
of a speeding truck outside my gate
The driver didn't even wait to see his ninth life leave.
From a beautiful creature to a sordid mess
in the blink of an eye - why did I
have to clean it up?
Well,
somebody had to I guess.
I scooped his remains into a box and called the council
for someone to take it away.
"What's that you say?" a voice replied
"a cat in a box? How can that be?
It all sounds a little suspicious to me.
Are you trying to have your pet buried for free?"
"No.I'm trying to do my civic duty.
Will you come and collect this cat?"
But I was dealing with a real beauty - a proper twat.
"Oh, I don't know about that, I can't say.
It's your property now. And privately owned cats
aren't our concern."
I was sure I could make him see the light
eventually.
But you live and learn.
Things took a turn for the worse, one way and another.
I slammed down the phone with a curse.
Something about his mother.
The next day I imagined I'd feel better.
Perhaps a strongly worded letter
to my local representative.
But a cat lot of use that would do!
No. As soon as I woke up I knew.
Lots of stuff about 'whadda man's gotta do'
was rattling round my head.
Sure! The cat was dead - but his time on earth
wasn't through.
Carefully sealing his cardboard coffin,
I tucked him under my arm and was off
in the direction of the town hall.
Everyone was very polite
to the rather uptight middle-aged man with a box
looking for the Department of Sanitation.
My conversation with a mild-mannered manager
ended
with him accepting my point of view,
the name of his employee
and a neatly wrapped cat
in a box.
A pox on all un-civil servants.
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
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John, as ever, I love your story-poems. This is a real treat for me, as, well, first of all, I am writing this response with a cat in my lap. I am also sensitive to the plight of furry little corpses left on roadsides. I'm impressed that they might get a burial at all on your side of the pond. Here, I wish they could get at least get moved onto the grass for crying out loud, but usually, the best they get is moved to the shoulder of the road, to rot into the gravel. Yech, and not exactly how nature intended things to go, I'm sure.
I also got a kick out of the line, "a proper twat." Four syllables, and we all instantly got an image in our head of some sour-faced, overweight broad with a droning nasal voice, the image of a hundred secretaries and DMV clerks the world over, who seems to devote her to day to helping as few people as possible.
This Yank DID get the "cat lot of use" joke if it's any consolation.
XOXO,
Lauren
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Well done! Trully represents the drama of dealing with a beurocracy.....did you REALLY take the cat to the office? How funny! Really enjoyed this lite slice of life.... -
One of us loved it...
It may not be the most pignant part of this poem but my favorite was:
I slammed down the phone with a curse.
Something about his mother.
That got the biggest laugh from me. This poem had great humor in it while also firing up the feelings of complete and utter frustration with "the system" -- we've all been there before! I love the flow and rhythm of this piece. It almost like reading a grown-up Dr. Seuss... even though I think he is still perfectly fine for grown-ups. =) It isn't just the word play that brings enjoyment and humor out of these lines but also the musical quality to the structure of it. It all blends so well for a more enjoyable read.
I also did not get the "cat lot of use" line and got stuck there for a moment but I already read your explanation down below.
Overall, another treat. Another read I am thankful I had. As my title notes, however, it is not a unanimous approval: Brady, my cat, did not enjoy this piece at all. Sorry. =)
. Rewarded 8
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I really like "But I was dealing with a real beauty-a proper twat." This made me laugh.
I don't understand " a cat lot of use." Is this a local idiom?
Seems like a hell of a lot of trouble over a dead cat. Here in rural Northwest Ohio, I just toss them into a ditch and am done with it; but maybe things are different in Ireland. Speaking of which, if you're in the market for a cat we've got quite a few swarming our door in the morning. I'd be happy to box one up for you and send it your way.. Rewarded 8
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Britain and America are 2 nations divided by a common language...
Hey Bill. Thanks for reading and commenting here. This is a distillation of a short story of mine (http://storywrite.com/story/46779
It is also a true story. You are not the first to raise an eyebrow at the trouble this cat caused by its demise. The problem was that clearing its sad remains off the street outside my shop should have been the most straightforward of tasks. I reckoned a brief phonecall at most, just to say the noxious corpse was in a box and not lying on the tarmac to be repeatedly squished.
However nothing is straightforward to a certain civil-servant mentality. The person at the end of the line turned fifteen different kinds of somersault to be obstructive rather than helpful.
Apparently the poem doesn't get that across as I'd hoped, and maybe it was too big an ask for a relatively short poem.
'A cat lot of use that would be' was a play on the old platitude ' a fat lot of use..etc.'
Looks like this one bit off a bit more than it could chew. Glad you liked some of it though. >W<
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The whole scenario seems quite British really...
Don't ask me why, that's why I said seems. The pivotal lines: "Sure the cat was dead - but his time on earth / wasn't through" gives us the theme and the frustration at once. I like the phone call with the twit twat leading to the self aggrandizing walk through the streets with the box and the hint of insistence in your personal encounter. What to do with the remains? Find the responsible authority and line out his duties for him. This could only, I think considering physical size, have happened with a cat. What if it had been a mastiff, I suppose you would have had to stand by it having others make phone calls, but the same exigent thoughts would have controlled the situation. I am put in mind of one of Becklett's characters and the absurdities that might ensue from a similar situation. My mother backed up her car in the driveway with her beloved cat Suzy sleeping behind the left rear wheel. She refused to have another cat until I brought my own to leave with them as I was moving to a spot where cats were not allowed and she took to her in a healing process only cat lovers will understand. There is also somethin Joycean about this piece. Nothing wasted, with that combination of dread and humor. Splendid work John, Cheers MJ. Rewarded 8
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Feel free
Do feel free to use it RA. For a more detailed account of the affair see my short story at Storywrite entitled 'Jobsworth'. There must be sitcom in the civil service for sure. It could be the first and only thing about it that was ever not boring. -
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'A bit Irish' , the saying goes
Thanks Richard. The story here might be described as 'a bit Irish', a phrase often used to describe nonsensical events and unlikely solutions. It's abbreviated but absolutely true. For more in-depth coverage of the events see my very short story at http://storywrite.com/story/46779.
I like doing this sort of prose-poem but always wonder if it isn't cheating somehow. Anyway, glad you liked it and thanks for your extensive comment here. Much Appreciated. >W<
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I'm a sucker for cat tales...
... ditto stories of righteous citizens flattened by fatheads. I briefly worked for a local council once and still haven't written the sitcom. When I do, may I use this incident? Best to you in the meantime... RA. Rewarded 4
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Feel free
Do feel free to use it RA. For a more detailed account of the affair see my short story at Storywrite entitled 'Jobsworth'. There must be sitcom in the civil service for sure. It could be the first and only thing about it that was ever not boring.
As for you being a 'sucker for cat tales' - your personal life is your own. The cat o' nine tales would it be?
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I think you have many poetic talents, John, and narrative anecdote is surely one of them. This little short story moves me along with almost nonchalant grace, episode by episode, filling in characterizations with just enough details as the event takes its good old time not only to a conclusion, but even to the poet's curse on all bureaucratic morons.
The poetic technique, too, is appealing to me. The poem breathes with plenty of open space and nicely handled dialogue, so it has the feel of a tale told in a pub. And its lighthanded style with sometimes rhyming and rhythming and sometimes not, lets me know as a reader that a skilled, relaxed old hand is at work, which means that I can ease up and enjoy it too.
One of the best things about this is the offhand rhyming, sometimes matched at lines' ends, sometimes in immediate triplets, one after another, but often in couplets; but some lines rhyme a few lines later, or even in the middle of lines, like 'away' and 'say', for example. Nice and easy, just right for this shaggy-cat tale.
But the nicest rhyme-set for me to enjoy is the clever near-exacts and slants of: 'middle-aged man', 'Sanitation', 'conversation', 'mild-mannered manager', and - way out slanted but all the more delightful - 'accepting' and 'neatly wrapped'. Nifty work all the way.
I took a shot at the Irish of "twat", and concluded it to mean a "twit" of a man. As dave noted, on this side of the pond, "twat" is one of our less nice words for "vagina", hence, "woman." Odd as it may sound, I like "twat" - keeps the poem's local color intact.
Now, if I had a quibble, I'd quibble; but honestly, I have none. Altogether a beauty. And 'something about his mother' is an absolute jewel.
Lad
. Rewarded 8
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hey W
loved it, a sordid tail told in Dr. Suess fashion. fun and full of puns, if critique i must you referring to the uncivil as a twat made me think he was a she. but leave it be.
dave. Rewarded 4
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John, this is rich. I have to rush now, but I'll be back with much more detail, all good. And I've opted out of getting points for this brief message. Later, Lad
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