The cat and the ladder

   Gather round now, come, oh children dear,

Come come, come now, from far and near,

A story I need tell to thee,

A story that is full of glee.

But why, you ask? Why should you care?

About a little story of despair?

Because, so happens you and me

Could find ourselves akin to he.

So, listen now and listen well,

To my own story, which I’ll tell.

Not far from here, quite near our town,

Right where Clown river turns blue and brown,

Next to the rapids, yes, that’s it,

Where you can find good fish to eat.

There lived a ratter, small and thick…

His name, I believe… was Slicky Nick.

And next to Nick’s, ‘n another house,

Lived his good friend, Morose the Mouse.

And friends they were, quite through and through,

When fields were green or they felt blue.

One faithful day, though full of joy,

Morose was feeling rather coy.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Nick, the slicky slick.

‘Where has your cheer gone, oh, so quick?’

‘I feel quite blue!’ answered Morose,

As he bent over, hiding his nose.

‘Can you not feel the sweet embrace?

Just sniff, it’s right there in your face!’

And sniff he did, and … what surprise!

Gruyere, Gouda, Roncal, not one, but thrice.

‘Oh, sweet Morose, my dear good friend,

Is this what’s got you’n such a bend?’

‘Oh, Nick the Slick, don’t laugh at me,

Even the clouds, look! aren’t they Brie?!’

‘Oh, poor Morose, don’t be distraught,

Come, come! No! No! We won’t get caught!’

And down they went, past tree, through ditch,

Up hill, through hedge, up stairs and flip, a switch!

First toe, then foot, a knee, a claw…a whisker, tail, tip toe, tip toe,

Inside they went, the faithful friends. Inside towards their faithful ends.

At first, no words, escaped their mouths,

Their minds held tight in wonderous shrouds.

A second passed, then two, then three,

Morose exclaimed, ‘Oh, Nick! Look… Brie!’

Not only Brie, but Camembert…

And Swiss, Gouda. ‘Is that, Lambert?’

Oh, cheese Louise, they felt in heaven

And stuffed their mouths, enough for seven.

The time thus passed, from mouth to nibble,

Sleep came, a drip and then a dribble.

Embraced they slept, so peaceful, true.

Poor sods, they really didn’t have a clue.

For in that moment, Maurice awoke,

Who was Maurice? Hah, he was no joke!

Maurice the cat, a hateful fellow,

His soul awash, and bitter, yellow.

He ran the shop, that sold the cheese,

But in this morning, quelle surprise!

Instead of Cheddar, Colby, Gouda,

Morose the Mouse ensnared with Judah!

‘What is the meaning here, you two!

What’s happened to my sweet Dorblu?’

Morose awoke, his heart a thunder,

Poor Nick, was still asleep, no wonder.

He had consumed a whole Gruyere,

What reason had he had to share?!

But poor Morose, he understood,

To reason with Maurice… no good.

Still clutched to Sleepy Nick’s chest, tight,

He said farewell to world’s delight.

‘No! Stop! Let go! Let go of me!

Let loose you scoundrel, set me free!’

As Morose thrashed, Slick Nick awoke,

‘Hey you, stop it! What’s with this joke?’

‘Let go! Let go! You mass of fur!

Let go! Let go! Stop it, you cur!’

‘Edam, Comte, Feta, my precious Swiss!

Where is it all? Why’s it amiss?’

‘Let go! Let go! Let go you fool!

Let go! Let go! I’m not your tool!’

Nick heard a squirm, a beg, a curse,

Confused, held tight to sweet Morose.

‘Ok, I give! Please hurt me not!

I’ll pay the price for what I’ve wrought.’

Maurice he turned, a hateful stare,

Their hearts just shrunk, unlike a hare.

‘What is the meaning here, you two?!

Where is my precious Yorkshire Blue?’

Nick’s mouth went wide as if to talk,

Morose’s kick signaled him: do not.

‘You’ve caught me swine, let loose your squeeze,

I will repent, just let me breathe!’

Nick’s grip unlaced, the Mouse sat down,

He turned to face Maurice’s frown.

‘I snuck in here quite late last night,

I ate my full, t’was pure delight.

I ate and ate, throughout the dark,

I meant to leave your cupboards stark.

This scoundrel heard my lustful thinking,

He crept inside, attacked, unblinking.’

Nick sat quite still, he dared not move,

All knew the maker’s fame: obtuse.

‘We fought and fought!’ Morose went on,

‘Our struggle almost reached the dawn!’

But in our valid struggle fell,

Sleep came, enveloped us so well.

And then you came, all yell and clanker,

My only chance to run, you hamper.

Take heed you beasts, I’ll never wail,

I’m caught, farewell, I’ll go to jail.’

Slick Nick was stunned, knew not to say,

Morose was caught, hip hip hooray!

‘You wretched fool, you thief, you scoundrel,

You’ll face my wrath! You’ll know my mandrel!’

Maurice, he screamed, reached for his tool,

‘Stop, Father. Stop! Your wish’s vengeance’s far too cruel’

His daughter beckoned from behind,

A woman’s heart, her fate: just blind.

The coppers came and seized the Mouse,

But Maurice’s anger would not douse.

Two weeks from then, Morose would hang,

Maurice’s hate his time had rang.

But what of Nick, Slick Nick the cat?

Would he for friendship, tit for tat?

‘Oh, yes, oh, yes! I swear to thee!

Morose, who mine own brother chose to be.

I swear on blood and sweat and tear,

Close to my heart no one’ll come near.

I swear, ‘till breath leaves far from chest,

My darkened heaves will have no rest.’

A grave dug in his soul so deep,

No sip of light would ever creep.

He lived his lie, day in, day out,

He hated life, of that, no doubt.

A hero, he soon came to be,

Slick Nick the Savior of Brie.

But in his heart, forever mournful,

He lived each day, undoubtedly scornful.

He swore, he’d climb the ladder high,

He swore, he’d not stop ‘till the sky.

The lies went on, as steps he clambered

His heart by truth, no longer hampered.

Maurice’s heart he soon just melted,

And from its core a friendship smelted.

Day in, day out, the lies went on,

His doubts and fears forever gone.

From Cheddar, Tilsit, Provolene

To Stilton, Feta, Saint Maure d’Touraine.

He lived the lies, each day new muster,

For he would want their lives to master.

The days went on, then weeks, then years,

Maurice then blessed Nick and his daughter, dears.

The lie became part of his truth,

His heart and mind not one but deuce.

The years passed on, the lies forgotten,

But in his heart all days were rotten.

From sip to drip, to trickle, swell,

Where rage would pour, it’d form a dell.

The day then came, his task complete,

He then sat down, prepared to sleep.

That’s it then children, the story’s done,

A meaning I’ll make sure you’ve won.

In life embrace both good and bad,

Embrace as well what makes you sad.

Run not from truths, for they set free,

While lies just strangle, yes, you agree!

‘Tis here my story ends, abrupt

Its truth I hope, was not for naught.

Be true to love, be true to thee,

Just like Morose, not Nick of Brie.