I got a cat called Bobby from my daughter just last week.
A ginger tom, a pacifist, he's gentle and he's meek,
But Buggerlugs and Gabby, pure-bred bitches through and through,
Emphatically said, 'Get him out!' so now what do I do?

My life at home is filled with hisses, growls and glares and such,
I didn't think they'd give him hell, at least not quite this much.
He only wants to be their friend; at least that's what we thought,
But that's not going to happen 'til more battles have been fought.

My ladies don't appreciate just how handsome Bobby looks,
They obviously believe that their new lord and master sucks!
I try to keep them separate to the best of my abilities,
But in a tiny house like this, there aren't enough facilities.

I'm impatient to see peace break out, with three cats on my bed.
All wrapped around my feet, or on a cold night, round my head.
But while I do my best to make poor Bobby feel at home,
The gruesome twosome would prefer to see him leave, and roam.

He's stuck inside; I daren't let him out in case he runs,
While Buggerlugs guards the screen door and Gabby sits and suns
Herself out on the patio in defiance of his need
To get out there, exploring where other cats have peed.

But Bobby waits there patiently, on desk, on bed, on chair,
Until the day I feel it's safe to let him loose out there
And know that he'll be safe back home when feeding time arrives
And playing with the others, with his harem, with his wives!

© Sandy Parkinson, October, 2006. Word count: 280