So the cat has been spying on Pat and watching as he packs up things around our mat. I guess that means he is trying to move and ruin my groove. But then I guess a bigger place would be grand, as the place we are in now resides in the likes of strat hole land. Then it could be worse, could be a cardboard box so I won't curse. But the cat has yet to have to move one bit for it seems nothing quite does it.
One is by a pond,
So it's price goes to infinity and beyond.
Another doesn't want cats,
Not even pet rats.
One more is gone,
Oops, too slow at our lawn.
Some are months away,
Others actually have rat poo on display.
That is no joke,
Along with some guy offering a toke.
Of what I was afraid to ask,
To live there you'd need a gas mask.
Cheap and one of a kind,
Has plenty of room to run for my behind.
Did I mention there was a shooting there the other day?
Wouldn't you love to make that place your new bay?
Another looks sketchy,
As the roof was kind of stretchy.
Or saggy it could be,
Pfft, thought they could fool me.
A few were great,
Although if they were your fate.
You'd have to work 24/7 to afford,
At least you'd never be bored.
Lots more crap,
All over the map.
One hole deserves another I suppose,
As looking just curls my toes.
Nasty carpet too,
All the germs that could ensue.
Plus a hairball be harder to clean,
So we skip that scene.
Always such a pain,
Searching for a new lane.
But picky I suppose is good,
So no place comes with rotten wood.
Wish it would move quick,
And something would click.
But until then fun will be had,
Searching about with all the nut jobs in front of that Pat lad.
And so Bush Number Three remains in place at our current strat hole of a space until Pat's search is through and we bid this hole adieu. The cat will have to suffer through the heat but will never admit defeat for I'm descendent from Africa too. So this heat I can live through. Be nice when we find some new grass to rest my little rhyming ass.
Fill your rummer, get drunk all summer.