Children's book - age range around 6 years and up.
Currently a 26 page manuscript (which may be expanded)– each page comprising 1 'verse' with illustration or photo.



Cats Everywhere…

There are cats everywhere,
On our roof, in our tree.
The last time I counted,
Well, I counted forty-three.

Momma Kitty, she is orange.
She has kittens, three in all:
Miss Peepers and Bozo
And Weebit, who is small.

Bozo chases rustling leaves,
While Weebit likes to sleep.
Then, sitting on the fence,
Miss Peepers likes to peep.

Peepers is the prettiest cat
That you did ever see.
Her silver-grey stripes hide her
When she's climbing in a tree.

Watching from a distance,
Torty, he's a tortoise-shell.
And Jingles, he's a black cat,
Wears a collar and small bell.

Squeaky chases Jingles.
Squeaky's stripy brown and grey.
Albert's a blue Persian,
And he watches in dismay.

Squeaky's playful, Squeaky's noisy,
But proud Albert, he is not.
Then there's Ralph. He's slow and old,
And eats fish from a red pot.

They arrive in the morning.
Some are wild, some are stray.
Some live in the garden,
And never go away.

There's the gang of black short-hairs.
When I counted, there were eight.
Arriving for their breakfast,
They are never ever late.


They are followed, soon, by Cocoa.
She is long-haired and brown.
The reason she's called Cocoa is,
She tumbles like a clown.

Then there's Charlie with a moustache,
Small and black on his white face.
Cats appearing everywhere
For dishes, soon in place.

Pots upon the worn porch steps,
And on the rusting car.
Word has got around
In the cat world, near and far.

Now, Mac is fat and black,
With a white spot on his nose.
Quite where he comes from,
Nobody really knows.

He is careful. He is cautious,
And his long tail swishes.
Then, he sniffs and he nibbles
From the brightly coloured dishes.

There are cats everywhere,
And the food is soon gone.
Some stay the day,
While some move on.

If it's sunny, some will sunbathe.
Mac and Ralph sit in the shade.
If it's stormy, they all scatter,
Except Ralph, who's not afraid.

Although there are so many,
They rarely fight each other.
If a stray dog should come near,
Then they all take cover.

They are fast. They are nimble,
But old Ralph, is not.
He hides behind a row
of broken flower-pots.

Only one cat's mean.
He's a rogue, full of spite.
Charlie with the moustache,
He's not very bright.



The others all avoid him.
His temper is so short.
Ears torn and tattered
From the time that he got caught.

The others put up with him
But they give him a wide space.
Tattered and torn Charlie
With the moustached face.

As the cats come and go,
And the day passes by,
The sun sinks slowly
In the afternoon sky.

Once again, time for feeding,
As they all reappear.
They don't need calling,
To tell them supper's here.

There are cats everywhere,
And the moon is shining bright.
Ghostly little creatures,
Wide awake at night.

I can hear them on the rooftop,
Like the pitter-pat of rain.
Knowing, in the morning,
They'll want breakfast once again.

I'm in bed, but they're prowling,
And I say a little prayer,
When I wake, I hope to find
There are cats everywhere.

Copyright David Taub (UKpoet.aol.com) November 2001

David Taub is a member of
The British organisation 'National Union of Journalists' (NUJ);
Overseas Columnist (resident in Florida, USA) for the UK magazine 'Poetry Now';
Freelance writer for various UK and USA magazines;
Co-author of Language of Souls (listed on amazon.com)
Website: www.ukpoet.cjb.net