Poem: Rosemary and the Querulous Cat

Oh where, oh where has Rosemary gone?

Nobody knows where she is.

Her concerned little brother is now all alone-

Oh, where is that sister of his?

She's packed up her bag and taken her coat,

Her bucket, her spade and her hat.

Neighbours hear rumours she left on a boat,

In search of the Querulous Cat.

“The Querulous Cat?” her poor mother groaned.

“Pray tell, what on earth could that be?”

“The Querulous Cat,” the neighbours intoned,

“Is pink and it rides on a flea.”

“Rides on a flea?” her mother replied.

“Surely the flea's on the cat!”

“The cat's on the flea,” the neighbours all lied,

“And the flea is on top of a hat.”

“On a hat,” said her father, very surprised.

“Why would a flea be on that?”

“It's hitching a ride,” the neighbours replied,

“For the hat's on the head of a bat.”

“A bat that can fly,” the neighbours advised,

“Not a bat you would take to the crease*.”

“It's a big pack of lies,” her mother surmised,

“Now, stop it and go get the police!”

Rosemary, meantime, was stowing away,

Hidden below and at sea.

On a boat that was sailing off Redcliff Bay,

As she searched for the cat and the flea.

On a ship full of pirates she sailed away,

Wondering what land they would reach,

And when they did, the very next day,

She jumped off and swam to the beach.

With her bucket and spade, her coat and her hat

All packed with some this and some that,

She search and she searched for the Querulous Cat

On the flea, on the hat, on the bat.

At last, when she felt too tired to walk,

She sat with her feet in the sea,

And, quite unexpectedly, heard someone talk,

And wondered, Now who could that be?

She crept up on tiptoes so no one could hear,

Crept up so no one would see.

And there was a sight that caused her to cheer-

The Querulous Cat on a flea.

“Hello,” said Rosemary. “How do you do?”

“Hello!” said the Querulous Cat.

“I have to confess, I am so glad to see you.

Have you by chance seen a bat?”

“Oh no! You've not lost him?” Rosemary cried.

“No, no. Well, sort of,” said Cat.

“We played hide and seek. It was his turn to hide,

And, yes—I suppose—we've lost Bat.”

“He's gone and forgot,” muttered the flea.

“I bet he's gone home and forgot.

I bet he is sat there having his tea!”

The pink cat replied “Surely not!”

“Oh, let's all go home,” grumbled the flea.

“Of course,” said the Querulous Cat.

“Come on, young lady, hold on to me.

Bring your bag and your coat and your hat.”

With the biggest of leaps, they soared through the air

And landed by Rosemary's house.

It was dark. It was late. There was nobody there.

Not a frog, not a rat, not a mouse.

“Pray tell, what does querulous mean, Mr Cat?”

Asked Rosemary, jumping off Flea.

“It means that you moan about this, about that-

Not something you'd say about me.

“But the Querulous Flea's not quite the same-

It doesn't have quite the allure.

A cat's rather better to carry the name

As I'm pink and I'm covered in fur.

“A cat's so much sweeter, so fluffy and cute,

While a flea can do nothing but bite.

The Querulous Cat, you cannot refute,

Is nicer. Now Rosemary, goodnight!”

The End

*a cricketing reference

©Tracey Meredith

2015

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