Ship’s Cat

Tom is on the manifest

His job; seek out every pest

No fuss from other busy crew

Focused on their own jobs too

 

Not for him a cosy fire

Or fluffy cushion to retire

Instead a noisy engine room

Is where he rests, his coat to groom

 

He prowls the holds with consummate care

Fixing vermin with his steady stare

Pouncing on some careless prey

A tasty rat for supper today

 

Seldom seen out on deck

The hidden spaces he must check

No stormy seas affect his gait

Stalking surely round every crate

 

Ears rotate, was that a squeak?

Belly-crawling, he takes a peek

Another hapless, shrieking meal

Soon held by claws made of steel

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