I’ve watched the ceiling cracks grow ever wider.
Perhaps the whole thing will come crashing down;
Bring with it every cobweb, every spider,
And Great Aunt Catherine’s books and ballroom gown.
These new tectonics are a bit concerning
Since something odd which happened Tuesday night.
Might just have been the wind I was discerning
(Admittedly, the storm was at its height).
I’d just got into bed and had my Horlicks,
Then settled down, turned off the lamp and coughed,
When suddenly some little creaks – then more cricks
Began to come from somewhere in the loft.
Would you believe – I swear I heard some laughter,
Like tiny, high-pitched squeals and ecstasies.
And pitter-patter footsteps on a rafter,
And wine and song – and maybe even cheese!
What tiny folk can dance and be ecstatic
In such a dingy place so dark and dank?
I wondered, having crawled around the attic
And checked the roof and every board and plank.
But partying like this creates great dangers.
These immigrants are causing untold harm.
I need to find a way to stop these strangers –
Restore domestic peace and bring some calm.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for fellow feeling.
No prejudice in me, you can be sure!
But growing cracks across my textured ceiling –
Well, it’s not right, I need to find a cure.
– – – – –
In other news, my uncle’s on vacation.
Afghanistan, a city called Herat.
He’s left his pet with me for the duration –
A young and rather feisty tabby cat …