I overheard my cat one day
conversing with the cat next door.

To my surprise I heard him say
rodents had fallen through the floor,
mice in particular were down a hole
and now was not the time to sell.

I was aghast at all this tale.

I’d seen my cat as a Seigneur,
with all pertaining privileges,
not as a crass entrepreneur,
wheeling and dealing in small species.

A cat of more perceptive nous
than make a killing in mere mouse.

But later on I changed opinion
to one of feline admiration.

Cleaning beneath our old refrigerator
I saw a line with little feet in air
of mice and rats and puny creatures.

So far from being out of pocket
he’d coolly cornered all the market.

And now he is no longer skint,
he is the Master of the Mint.