What The Cat Knows

Mum’s tall spotty jug isn’t tall anymore

it’s in hundreds of pieces all over the floor

I rocked it and knocked it as I ran through the door

Mum thinks it was me, but she isn’t sure.

(The cat knows I did it.)


The jug was the prettiest thing in the hall

Mum loved it because it was bright and tall

I’m neither of those – I’m quite dull and small

I really didn’t mean to make it fall.

(The cat knows I did it.)


Mum found me crouching, trying to sweep

she shouted then began to weep

“My jug!” she wailed, “It wasn’t cheap!”

that night I couldn’t get to sleep.

(The cat knows I did it.)


I told Mum about the hairs on the mat

which match the colour of our cat

she frowned and said “Well, fancy that!”

the cat stayed silent where he sat.

(The cat knows I did it.)


Mum asked me outright “Was it you?”

my fingers shook, my blood turned blue

I hate to lie, that much is true

I said the cat hair was a clue.

(The cat knows I did it.)


My cat used to sleep upon my bed

he nuzzled love all round my head

now he glares as if he wants me dead“

I should have told the truth,” I said.

(The cat knows I did it.)

Previously Published at Dirigible Balloon


Attie Lime

Attie Lime likes walking in fields, writing with colourful pens, and making children laugh. She has children’s poetry featured in Northern Gravy, Little Thoughts Press, Parakeet Magazine, and The Dirigible Balloon.