Camping Cat

Our flouncy, bouncy cat named Mister Fluff Has black and white fur, with a mottled ruff Around his neck where the fur is thicker. The children would sit and watch him lick a Big saucer of milk when his luck was in, Or better still, pilchards scraped from a tin.

New Forest we’re bound, our joy is camping. Fluff leaps in the car, his lithe legs jumping. Running wild in the trees with birds and mice. Snuggled down under canvas. Ah, that’s nice. Time to get going. No sign of our Fluff. Pilchard tin rattled. Stalks back in a huff.

Marion Manning.