Last year we acquired a cat.
So, there's nothing strange in that,
but we don't know where he's from,
he's just a tired and tatty tom

Our garage has become his home,
he's even found a bed of foam.
But Motley, yes that's his name,
doesn't want to play the game.

Domesticity is not his thing,
pleasure he will never bring.
I've been and specially bought him food
just to try and improve his mood.

Motley hates me, I know he does,
he hides or turns his back because,
"This woman just won't let me be,
she wants to stroke and make a fuss of me"

"I just want a quiet life,
away from trouble, stress and strife.
I don't want to play and purr,
don't need someone to brush my fur."

I stand and watch while he licks his paws
and gently cleans between the claws.
He washes neatly behind his ears,
ignoring me, but I know he hears

"Oh Motley, you have the cutest face
I'd love to invade your feline space.
I loathe to see you in such a huddle
and I'm sure you'd really love a cuddle."

Motley looks and blinks his eyes.
This attention he does despise,
I know what he's thinking, there's no doubt,
"Just leave the food - on your way out!."