What's with all this wriggling, panic in the night?
There's movement in the doona, something isn't right.
Feeling all around the bump, above it and then under
I faintly hear a meow of fright, eclipsed by roaring thunder.

It takes up precious sleeping time to free a tangled cat,
Which panics every time we have a loud storm, fancy that!
With soothing words and gentle hands I guide her to the light
Her trembles, laid back ears and eyes wide-open show her fright.

The downpour and the thunder are enough to wake the dead.
My other little scaredy cat is skulking 'neath the bed.
I know I won't get back to sleep, a feat I wouldn't try
With two scared cats to pacify. I get up with a sigh.

In search of liquid nourishment I wander down the hall.
Not coffee, not a pot of tea, don't fancy them at all.
Hot chocolate then, the night is cold and that might be a start,
But sherry - no - a port would warm the cockles of my heart.

Yet which to choose, the tawny port, a cask I bought dead cheap?
The Strawberry Port's to die for; it could help me back to sleep.
But I don't care; both kinds of port would keep me nice and warm,
And as the adage always says, try any port in a storm!