Larry and Mick Recite Poetry to Cats

'I wandered lonely as a cloud...' 'Hang on, he's not listening.'
'I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD...' 'No, I think this one's deaf. Try that one.'
'Could you kindly remind me why we're doing this, friend Larry?' 'I'm testing a theory.'
'About cats being conduits of the soul...' 'In an exceedingly vague and generalised version of a nutshell. Try some Sylvia Plath on that one.'
'Isn't that likely to depress the poor bastard?' 'Good point. Pam Ayres then.'
'Oh I wish I'd looked after me teeth...' 'Not that one.'
'It's the only Pam Ayres poem I know.' 'Didn't she write one about Toilet Duck?'
'I don't think so.' 'Carry on then.'
'Oh I wish I'd looked after me teeth
And all the silly old molars beneath...' 'Is that second line right?'
'More or less.' 'Continue...'
'Oh I wish...' 'Skip the first two lines.'
'If I'd just used toothpaste
And not brushed them with haste,
They wouldn't have given me so much grief.' 'That definitely doesn't sound right.'
'Does it really matter? It's a cat.' 'It's not just a cat, friend Mick. It's a...'
'...conduit of the soul, I know. But does it really matter what poetry I recite or whether or not it's right? Couldn't I just make up any old rubbish?' 'It might work, I suppose.'
'Besides which, I don't know any more poems, apart from the odd limerick.' 'I don't think limericks would work. Know any haiku?'
'High-what?' 'Haiku. An ancient Zen form of poetry, constructed of three lines of five, seven, then five syllables.'
'My grandad used to wear Hai Karate.' 'So you don't know any haiku?'
'Not in the slightest.' 'Okay, make something up then.'
'Any old rubbish?' 'Any old - as you so eloquently put it - rubbish.'
'Okay here goes...

When you sit in your litter tray,
I promise you I'll turn away,
Because I don't want to see you poop -
Not whilst I'm eating 3-Bean Soup.'

'Is that the best you could come up with?'
'It was off the top of my head.' 'A poem about cat poop...'
'...and 3-Bean Soup!' 'Of course, one mustn't forget the 3-Bean Soup.'
'I'd like to see you do better.' 'I never claimed to be a poet.'
'Neither did I.' 'Did so.'
'Did not.' 'Did.'
'Didn't.' 'Did did did did did... to infinity.'
'Didn't to infinity plus one.' 'You most jolly well did!'
'I most indefatigably did not!' 'You said - and I quote - "I know a couple of lines, friend Larry.'
'That is correct.' 'How was I to know you meant precisely two lines?!'
'The proof of the pudding, friend Larry.' 'What in the name of Leaping Leonard Lotusleaf is that supposed to mean?'
'Who's Leaping Leonard Lotusleaf?' 'Does it matter?'
'In the context of your oppugning my pudding-related idiom, I think, friend Larry, that it does.' 'What are y-'
'Stop!' 'What?'
'Look.' 'Where?'
'There.' 'Where?' 'There on the stair.' 'Where on the stair?'
'Right there! A little cat with...' 'Don't tell me it's got clogs on.'
'Okay, but it's...' 'Oh my God...!'
'See?' 'It's...'
'The darned thing is...' 'Levitating!'
'Yes!' 'My God, you're right!'
'Of course I'm right. How could I be mistaken about a levitating cat?' 'Well that's that then.'
'That's what?' 'It proves my theory.'
'But I thought your theory was...' '...that creatures of the feline persuasion are imbued with the ability to levitate when you recite poetry to them?'
'That wasn't your theory.' 'You just weren't listening right.'
'Whatever you say, friend Larry. Whatever you say...'

[ FIN ]