by Steve Bremner
With apologies to T.S. Eliot
(also to A. Lloyd Webber and R. Kipling)
“Larry the Cat outlasts fourth U.K. prime minister…
The 15-year-old tabby dutifully serves as Chief Mouser of No. 10 Downing Street…”
There’s a whisper through that door, though it’s just day 44,
That the PM is ready to split.
Ah, but “Larry where is Larry, is he off with Meg and Harry?
We must find him or the boss can’t quit.”
Videographers, reporters, and our newsrooms’ sons and daughters
Are searching high and low
Crying, “Larry stop your messing, this event requires your blessing—
A PM can’t just go!”
At 11:42 the announcement’s nearly due
When Larry’s spotted circling someone’s shin,
And the people cheer and sing ‘God Save the Queen … uh … King,’
As a friendly cop comes out to take him in.
And Larry flails his twirly tail
And daintily wipes his mouth,
To signal us off to the southernmost part
Of “another one goes south.”
Then he gives a twitch of his whiskered nose
To say: “’Til next time we meet!
I’ll see you again when the next one goes—
I’m The Cat of Downing Street.”