Ugh. It has recently come to my attention that there are more rat deaths going on around here than I recently suspected. Rat 6 was being played with in a most horrific way this morning. Unfortunately, unlike Niccolo, these last 5 rats had no chance at all. Oh, the grief! Will I ever be able to bloglish my happy squirrel poem? Not yet...
"To the Rats, to Make Much of Time"
Gather ye food-scraps while ye may,
The cats are still a-killin'
And this same rat that scurries today,
Tomorrow's garbage'll be fillin'
The first to kill poor Nic, Leah
Has since been quite contrite.
Sorrow, rage, Nic died!---see ya.
Poor Nic, it just ain't right.
Three more rats since then expired,
Their deaths well hidden from me
By my dear husband who was tired (of rat poetry).
The murderer? All three cats look guilty.
Rat five was found during dinner with a guest.
The cats looked guilty again; they were present all.
Sweet baby Seffles killed Rat six; I was depressed,
for Seffles thought the rat great fun and used it as a ball.
--Tracinator (with a nod to Herrick)
These last two stanzas are not working at all for me, but I'll get back to them later.
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