I see you slipping away behind the cupboard
I see your eyes reflect the moon
Those glassy eyes, shining like crystal
made me remember dew drops of June
Hey little mousie
Don't be afraid
I have cheese and shelter
And a bit of cake that i made
Don't slip away in the darkness
You're the only one that i have
I won't jump and scream
Shouting from the top
"**** it! there goes the rat!"
My dear little mousie,
This house is vast and dark
Why don't we go near lampshades
And not play hide and seek for a start?
My dear, feeble,  mousie
Don't go near the mouse hole
For there lies the mouse trap,

And our little rendezvous will be untold.

Kira is gone again,
Loose from his cage.
I don't understand how he manages it
But he squeezes himself between
Thin little bars
And enters the freedom of my bedroom
Time and time again.
I only catch him
With sweets and good luck.
He's a tiny little mouse,
Black and white speckled like a cow,
Such a sweet wee thing,
But much too adventurous for his own good.
I'm lucky he has a sweet tooth.

On Turning her up in her Nest with the Plough

Wee, sleekit, cow’rin’, tim’rous beastie,
O what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I *** be laith to rin an’ chase thee
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry man’s dominion
Has broken nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
‘S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin’ wi’ the lave,
And never miss’t!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin’:
And naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin’
Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste
An’ weary winter comin’ fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turned out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter’s sleety dribble
An’ cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft a-gley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promised joy.

Still thou art blest, compared wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, oh! I backward cast my e’e
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I *** be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell -
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

Miss Muffins is a corpulent cat--
A trait she hasn't really bemoaned.
However, she likes to see herself
Not as obese, but rather…big *****.

Big ***** she isn't. Let's be frank.
But BIG she is: twenty-five pounds!
Once she discovered la bonne vie,
She put on weight in leaps and bounds.

The first time guests encounter Miss Muffins,
Their comments might sound picayune,
For they remark in disbelief,
"I didn't know you had a raccoon!"

Miss Muffins, who is highly offended,
Would love to dash from the room in disdain,
But since her poundage limits her movement,
Such an attempt would be in vain.

As long as she can lie by the window
And warm herself with the rays of the sun,
She doesn't have a care in the world
And wonders what could be more fun.

It's been a few years since Miss Muffins
Could jump up onto the bed or couch.
Her last attempt: a complete disaster.
She hit the floor with a thud and an "Ouch!"

Now she merely sits by the sofa
And looks up at her masters and cries,
As if to say, "Help me, please;
You could use the exercise."

There she curls up into a ball
And dreams of manifold savory things--
Things like tuna, goat cheese, sardines,
Chicken gizzards, and turkey wings.

If a mouse enters the room,
She says, "Ah, Mousie, I'm not in the mood.
Go ahead and eat what you like;
Just stay far away from all of my food!"

The only time Miss Muffins will run--
Well, sort of--happens each day when
She hears her masters call "Kitty, Kitty."
She knows its dinnertime again.

After her meal, Miss Muffins finds
A comfy place in the house to rest.
According to her theory, that
Is how one lets her food digest.

When little children come to visit,
Poor Miss Muffins lets out a moan.
"Why," she asks, "do they have to tickle
And **** me? Make them leave me alone!"

The best way to win her affection
Is simply to give her something to eat.
You will become best friends forever
By offering her a tasty treat.

If, however, you give her a taste
Of something she hates, she'll be quite candid.
You will know that you have erred,
For you'll be severely reprimanded.

Every so often, Miss Muffins hears
Something that fills her with great disquiet:
When she's at her doctor's office,
A four-letter word is mentioned: diet.

"Ah, it's time to change the subject,"
Thinks Miss Muffins. "Lovely weather."
To counter unwanted suggestions, she knows
We all have to band together.

“Okay,” Miss Muffins now concedes,
"I admit I’m a weight-challenged cat."
She can accept that label, but
Whatever you do, don't call her fat.

-by Bob B (2-18-20)

COMES A MOUSEY

"Comes a headache you can lose it in a day,
Comes a toothache see the dentist right away;
Comes love nothing can be done! "

she wiggles her fingers
she wiggles her toes
tries to mouth the words

she gurgles in her cot
waves her head about
hits her mobile toys

I sing her old jazz
standards from the first
day of her life

from tiny tot
to the toddler
of now

she can join in
and sing
with relish and delight

and demand of Daddy
"Sing me mousey
Sing me mousey!"

"Comes the measles, you can quarantine a room
Comes a mousey, you can chase it with a broom
Comes love, nothing can be done!"

Comes love, nothing can be done

Comes love...nothing can be done

Comes love . . .nothing. . .can be. . . done

*

COMES LOVE

Spoken Intro:

I've studied up my trigonometry
and my geometry and history
but all all the laws of trigonometry
are no use to me
see they're antique.
It doesn't take a lot of figuration
and it doesn't take a college education
to know that when love comes to your door
to know that two and two just
simply won't make four...

Come a rain storm put your rubbers on your feet,
Comes a snow storm you can get a little heat;
Comes love nothing can be done.

Comes a fire then you know just what to do,
Blow a tire You can buy another shoe,
Comes love nothing can be done.
Dont try hidin 'cause there isnt any use,
Youll start slidin when your heart turns on the juice.

Comes a headache you can lose it in a day,
Comes a toothache see the dentist right away;
Comes love nothing can be done!

Comes a heat wave you can hurry to the shore,
Comes a summons you can hide behind the door;
Comes love Nothing can be done.
Comes the measles you can quarantine the room,
Comes a mousie you can chase it with a broom;
Comes love nothing can be done.
Thats all brother, If youve ever been in love,
Thats all brother, you know what Im speaking of!
Comes a nightmare you can always stay awake,
Comes depression you may get another break;
Comes love nothing can be done

"Comes Love" is a 1939 jazz standard. It was composed by Sam H. Stept, with lyrics by Lew Brown and Charles Tobias.

I used to sing this to my little girl and both she and our dog were both mesmerised by it. Og( for that is what she called him...she would cut a d of off every word)would just stand still and listen with all of his might and she would dance around him singing her favourite mousey bit.