Sunday. Another Day Of Rest!

It's raining, it's pouring
Old Two-legs is snoring.
He went to bed when we'd been fed
And couldn't get up in the morning.

Old windy's outside the window. He seems to be vigorously shaking a thick rubber blanket and throwing grit against the glass in the early morning darkness. And so it is we're sat about staring forlornly at inanimate kitchen items. Waiting. Waiting for something to do. Waiting for the rain to cease or for Old Two-legs to appear; to give us cause to spring into action. The presence of catiness prevails in all its warm furry rumbling hungry tension. The atmosphere is charged with feline anticipation.

Enter Two-legs
Two-legs: Oh, no! The committee's here. Holding counsel are we? Good day, oh wise ones. What great deeds have you decided are to be enacted today? A race round the house, a poke about the dark corners of the junk room or a sleep in some inappropriate cardboard box?

On this occasion we maintain our furry silence. Some things are best kept secret. However, we do gaze between our vacant bowls and Old Two-legs with rounded shoulders. The more dejected our appearance, the sooner the pouch will be produced and slopped before us.

Two-legs: Here you go you two piglets. Get that down you.

The licky slurping begins;
Winter's on its way.
When we've finished washing
We'll while away the day.
In some damp old box
Or maybe on the stairs
Perhaps on the dirty washing
To cover it in hairs.

Herky