My Son and The Cat

This afternoon we will celebrate the life of my firend Andrew. When he was a small boy his father Bob wrote a poem. I have been asked to read it at the service:

My Son and The Cat

My Son
Produces noise gathers dirt
Finds trouble eats sweets
Chases the dog
Likes games hates bed
Loathes soap loves ice cream
Keeps clear of The Cat

My Son
Has pockets crammed
With so many joys
It would bring envy
To a scrap man's eyes

My Son
Is a fireman a dustman
A policeman a sherriff
An engine driver
A spaceman a cowboy
Abuilder of bridges
A tamer of tigers
Who keeps clear of The Cat

My Son
Lives in caves climbs mountains
Visits the moon slays dragons
Rides magic carpets to fairyland
Kills more Indians than Custer
But keeps clear of The Cat

My Son
Is a ball of joy
Every inch a boy
But he can't make a pact
With our old ginger Cat.