My cat used to be a tobacconist
On Hawlsey Street
By Oldgate Lane
In a musty shop
Of fine cut leaf
Of humidors
And dirty panes

She sold the rags
The London Times
and various magazines
Perused by young men
Chronicling their rites of passage
In the smoky music halls
That were popular
Before the skiffle clubs of Donnighan's day

Meerschaum pipes and special blends
Festooned the wall behind the counter
On shelves that were quite high for her to reach
Still she managed all through the war
Only to be struck down by a jealous lover in 1947
It was a good sized funeral as she was well liked in the neighbourhood

Following the funeral guests were treated to dark ale, tea and sherry at Mrs. Whitelaw's, who was one of my cat's sisters They sang songs and passed around pictures of my cat when she was a beautiful young lady, singing at the Palladium before the war with the Hun.

My cat says she's quite happy, although sometimes she does miss the shop and all her old friends.