Doggety-dog
lived attety-at
the top of our block
in a flattety-flat.
He hadn’t a name
as far as we knew
except Doggety-dog
of floor seventy two.
He was blackety-black
with a belly of white,
he would oftenly bark
but neverly bite.
He didn’t go out much,
he mostly stayed in
(and I’ll tell you just why
in a minitty-min).
But once in a while
he’d goggedy-go
To visit Miss Whizzit
one storey below
to borrow an egg
or a spud for a stew
and carry them back
to floor seventy-two
for Mr MacWhister -
he also lived there
but he spent all his
time in his armity-chair.
and he never went out,
no, alas and alack
cos of terrible pains
in his backety-back.
Now for Doggety-dog
there was nothing such fun
as the days he went down
to floor seventy-one.
Was it cos of Miss Whizzit?
No, it wasn’t that –
It was cos of Miss Whizzit’s
cat-cattety-cat,
for as soon as Dog-doggy
caught sight of its face
he would chase it and chase it
all over the place -
up the walls and the curtains
and out through the door
and all down the stairs
to the bottomest floor
and then, when he’d made
that poor catty-cat shift
he would quietly go back
to the top in the lift,
while Cattety-cat
(and the egg or the spud)
remained somewhere below
in the rain and the mud.
Now eveything might have
gone on in that way
for ever and ever.
It didn’t. One day
(I remember it well,
for there was an eclipse)
while Miss Whizzit was frying
bananas and chips
she heard on the landing
a terrible din
and the door it burst open
and Catty burst in
with Doggety-dog
hotty-hot on her trail -
oh how Doggy did bark!
Oh how Catty did wail!
Catty leapt on the stove,
Doggy-dog did the same
and both of them ‘mediately
burst into flame.
“Fire! Fire!” cried Miss Whizzit
“What creature is that,
that is chasing my highly
inflammable cat?”
- but then she remembered
what mother had taught her
and over them emptied
a bucket of water
Catty leapt off the stove,
simultaneously so did
the dog, and the stove,
being ‘lectric, exploded
Now Mr MacWhister
one tall-storey higher
was sleeping and dreaming
when someone yelled “fire!”
so often, so loud that it
made his poor brain sore
he leapt from his chair
and grabbed hold of his chainsaw
his blanket and telescope,
blue-and-red braces
(you never know what
you may need in such cases)
and threw them all into
a velvety sack and,
forgetting those pains
in his backety-back,
cried, “Oh, how many years
have I waited! Oh is it
not time now to visit
exquisite Miss Whizzit?”
- and he ran down the stairs
with a rattety-tat
and burst with a yell
into Whizzety’s flat.
Now when poor Miss Whizzit
observed him appear, oh,
she blushed like a beetroot
and whispered, “My hero!”
MacWhister meanwhile,
overcome by her charms,
had lifted her up
in his spindelly arms
and sighing “my love,
oh my lovetty-love!”
he carried her up
to his rooms up above
Now Doggety-dog
and Cattety-cat
Were left all alone
In Miss Whizzety’s flat
where normal conditions
were slowly returning
and both now had almost
completely stopped burning
(though if I am honest
I have to admit
that they smelled pretty bad
And still sizzled a bit).
“Come, Catty,” said Doggy,
“let’s get this place tidy.”
They did so, and when
by the following Friday
they’d heard not a peepety-
peep from upstairs,
they decided Miss Whizzety’s
flat was now theirs.
And now life for the two of them’s
twice as much fun –
it’s a permanent chase
round floor seventy-one,
while MacWhister and Whizzit
gaze out at the view
from their flattety-flat
on floor sevently-two.
