Old Harry Spatts
Has sixty cats,
He keeps them in his barn.
He keeps them there
To eat the rats
That come to eat his corn.

Each has a bowl
And each a hole
So they can come and go.
But why each cat
Has its own hole,
I said I’d like to know.

Well Harry Spatts
Most times likes cats,
He’s not denying that.
But wants them gone
Like Hell flown bats,
Whenever he says, SCAT!

Scat was based on one of my Uncle Robin’s funny stories. It wasn’t easy to put to rhyme. You’ll notice that I changed my meter. The first and second lines rhyme and also the third and sixth lines. I haven’t found this meter in any of my poetry books so maybe it’s original. I’ll have to give it some fancy French sounding name.
As we grow older, we grow less patient. That is probably why God, in his wisdom, gives children to young people. The man in Scat wanted instant reaction when he yelled. He didn’t want to have to wait while the cats queued up to leave by way of a single hole. Why would someone want sixty cats anyway?