Max Ross Much have I travelled in the realms of men, And lots of homeless mutts and moggies seen; In many a city dustbin have I been To tell of which would tax a poet’s pen. Hopeless and crazed with hunger was I then, All skin and bone, a thing unwashed, unclean; I lived a life unbeautiful and mean Till I was saved and brought to Number Ten. Then felt I like a pauper made a king Dumfounded by my rich inheritance; Now every morning I hear angels sing Of paradise, of pomp and circumstance. Ah, here I have the best of everything, A life of ease no wizard could enhance.
Frank McDonald I’m a house cat, a mouse cat, A clever cat and proud. I’m a fat cat, a rat cat, The darling of the crowd. Call me classy if you choose And regal if you must; I feast among the famous folk For I am upper crust. I’m here in number ten to stay Though families come and go; And it would shatter hoi polloi To know the things I know. Of all the felines in the world I guess there cannot be A cat with greater privileges. MAGNIFICAT — that’s me.
Bill Greenwell Larry says, her garb is odd The colours loud and louder She never purrs, but praises God And others of His clowder He says she likes a kitten heel Or crazy-angle-necks Larry likes her sex appeal Respects her leather keks
Larry says, her stroking hand Is very sure and stable She’d kill a mouse, if it were planned, Or wore a designer label But lately she has hissy fits And clips him with a Vogue Her visitors hate cats to bits And sport an Irish brogue
G.M. Davis With the spryness of a puma, with a wicked sense of humour, With a satirist’s demystifying eyes He patrols the Whitehall railings itemising human failings. That’s Larry, folks, the Witty and the Wise.
He’s as salty as a sailor, he’s as hip as Norman Mailer, He’s got cool, he’s got charisma, he’s got class. He has super-potent mojo, doesn’t give a damn for BoJo, And tells Damian Green to shove it up his arse.
Since the Maybot installation as the leader of the nation Like a zombie dragged-up version of Farage, Larry hangs out at a distance till her personal assistants Shut her down for several hours to recharge.
When you earn your bread and butter co-existing with a nutter It’s a contradiction, but as Larry says, ‘Never mind a funny living, it’s the gift that keeps on giving’. He’s already bought a welcome mat for Jez.
Mike Morrison I’m the Battersea Bruiser, no pussy-cat loser, Ten Downing Street’s chav chât-elain; When there’s mouses need fixin’ and rats ripe for nixin’ No problem, guys, Larry’s your man.
No mutt calls me Mog — I live high on the hog, My PM’s an A1 role model: Top care and attention plus index-linked pension — Each day is a dream-ticket doddle.
True, some of her cronies are freeloading phoneys And backstabbers (that’s entre nous), But I did like Obama— oh boy, what a charmer! Michelle was a cool kitty, too.
Whichever lot win, whoever gets in I keep shtummo and don’t dish the dirt; Labour or Tory, it’s all hunky-dory — This job is a cinch — and a cert!
In memory of the late great George Romero, and taking as your inspiration Seth Grahame-Smith’s 2009 Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, your next challenge is to provide an extract from a mash-up of a literary classic of your choice and horror fiction. Please email, wherever possible, entries of up to 150 words to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 2 August, providing a word count at the end of your entry.
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