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Faith, fiction and cancer stuff.


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Cat with attitude

I’m a cat with attitude
And I ain’t gunna give you no platitudes.
So I tell you what you’re gunna do:
Stay sat, just like that
And listen to what I have to say to you.
If I smell a rat on you
Then I’ll do what I have to do:
Freaking eat that rat
‘Cos that’s what cats do.
I don’t care if that don’t appeal to you
Or if I ain’t the ideal pet for you.

I’m a cat that’s fat. So.
What you gunna do about that? So.

I eat chocolate cake,
Tuna pasta bake,
Chips with steak,
Cornetto and flake,
Whatever it takes
To make my belly shake
When I move,
Like a mini earthquake.

Don’t you dare judge me.
You skinny human scum
With your tiny pink bum
And your soy chai tea.
I ain’t you and you ain’t me.
So you eat your flipping leaves
And leave me to my full-fat ice-cream.

I’m a cat that’s fat. So.
What you gunna do about that? So.bad cat

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Snowfall

I dreamed that it was snowing.

Huge flakes

like albino hairy caterpillars,

which dissolved at the touch.

In the distance at the riverside,

stood an old castle with watermill attached.

The air had a feel and smell that was

North Yorkshire

with its icy tang.

And the lonely moorland stretched

two centuries hence.

We resolved to explore the castle

first thing tomorrow –

with its watermill that didn’t turn and

a roof long-since burned.

But for now, we throw snowballs

before our gloved hands freeze.

Your laughter whizzes between

the flakes like it is an alive thing.