The Pet Poem

THE PET ©Paul Solomons In a place called Sweet Meadow a pet shop once stood, In a converted barn made of wattle and wood. It was run by an elderly couple named Squit, And oh, how they loved selling pets out of it. One day Mr. Squit sat down with a sigh, “My dear,” he began, “I just wish I knew why, We’ve had no customers for over a week, If this goes on much longer, our future looks bleak.” Recently pets just weren’t selling at all, The Squit’s thought their business might go to the wall. Christmas was coming and snowflakes were dropping, If only someone would drop in and go shopping. Squit said, “who wouldn’t want to receive, A pooch in their stocking on this Christmas Eve? Selling our pets as a Christmas time gift, Just might help a few of our doggies to shift.” “A Pet’s not for Christmas, you fool, it’s for life, To love and look after” reminded his wife. “They’re helpless and need full-time care and attention. A bit like a husband,” she hastened to mention. “Anyway, there’s a more notable reason, Why we’re in the cart in this festive season. It’s that new place in town,” continued his missus, “A pet shop at least ten times bigger than this is. They’ve got aisles full of guinea pigs, kittens and puppies, Rabbits and mynah birds, hamsters and guppies, It’s very hi-tech, all bar codes and computers, I’ve heard they’ve even a gismo that neuters!” “That’s it”, cried her husband, pointing and standing, “We’ll make the shop bigger. My dear, we’re expanding. We’ll get all the gadgets we need to impress, And you can have “Squit’s” on the front of your dress!” “Hold on”, said his wife, with her head crossly tilted, “This barn has stood here since my grandfather built it. It cannot be changed, I won’t hear of it Honey, And anyway, dear, we ‘aint got the money. But I’ve an idea,” said the cunning old biddy, “That’ll bring lots of customers here from the city. We don’t need to go all mod con and robotic, We just need some pets that are rare or exotic.” “You’re right,” said the codger, upstanding once more, And he walked to the phone past the birdseed and straw, He sat and he dialled and spoke to a chap, The first on the list in the book on his lap. And when he was finished he smiled at his spouse, And he patted each dog and stroked every mouse, Then the Squits closed the shop and they went up to bed, “It’ll be here tomorrow,” the old duffer said. The very next morning before the Sun rose, Came the sound of Mr. Squit blowing his nose, “But how can that be?” mused the wife as she stirred, “He’s still here in bed, so what was it I heard?” Squit then came round, and he too was stumped, So they put in their teeth and then from the bed jumped, And they ran to the window, Mrs. Squit feeling sorry, What she thought was Squit’s nose was whacking great lorry. “It’s here!” cried the old man, jumping about, “But what is it?” asked the wizened old trout. “Our fortune,” he answered grabbing her hand, “An exotic pet from a far distant land.” So he licked his palm and flattened his locks, And ran to the door in his nightgown and socks. Unfortunately though the truck did not wait, And all that he found was a small wooden crate. “I wonder,” thought Squit, “why the truck left so quickly. Perhaps,” he concluded, “the driver was sickly. I suppose that the thing’s in this crate,” he surmised, So he started towards it, then jumped back, surprised, Because stamped on the side the words “Danger, Beware”, So Squit got his wife to get IT out of there. The old woman crouched and she peeped through the slats, And she saw a small head, about the size of a cat’s, “It’s lovely and cute – so why all the fuss? I think that it’s probably more scared of us.” “Well, go on then, woman, open the box,” Said Squit in the road in his nightgown and socks, So she got a screwdriver and started to wrench, It was then that the Squits first noticed the stench. “I know you’re excited, but Mr. Squit please!” Said the feminine Squit in the road on her knees, “That smell isn’t me!” the old beggar retorted, With eyes full of tears and his face all contorted, “I thought it was you,” he revealed through his choking, “Mr. Squit!” said his wife, “You had better be joking!” And through all this talking the woman kept wrenching, And the more that she wrenched, the more stench started stenching, And though the crate front was so awkward and stiff, At last it flew open, but Oh, what a whiff. The Squits both fell backwards, knocked down by the humming, As out of the crate this great pong kept on coming, And there in the box all hunched up at the back, Some kind of creature, its fur white and black. “I think,” coughed the man, “that they must have forgotten, To feed the poor thing, cos it’s died and gone rotten.” They tutted and shook both their heads disapproving, When all of a sudden, the thing started moving. Slowly it trundled out on to the lane, And there by the Squits it stopped moving again. Stinking and whiffing, but bursting with life, By the Squit in his nightgown and socks, and his wife. They sat for a moment, with neither Squit speaking, Afraid of the taste of the of the air that was reeking, Until Mr. Squit softly said with a croak, “I think that I’d better go ring back that bloke. He really did seem like an awfully nice fella, But the pet that he sent is a terrible smeller.” Mrs. Squit cried, “Oh, you silly old goat! Just look at the animal’s black and white coat. He sent us a SKUNK, Mr. Squit; you’ve been had, No-one will want a pet smelling this bad! If only you’d used just a little more sense, And not rushed to spend all our pounds and our pence.” “You made me do it,” he said, “and what’s more, There’s enough scents for both of us there on the floor!” They argued a while, each blaming the other, The man even blaming his wife’s dear dead mother, But their quarrelling came to an awfully swift stop, When they noticed the skunk wander off t’wards the shop. “Grab it!” shrieked Mrs. Squit, full of alarm, Dragging her husband along by the arm, So quick as he could he was off on his toes, Hitching his nightgown and holding his nose, Pursuing the skunk past the biscuits and gnaws, And finally grabbing the creature’s back paws. At this point the old chap did him some thinking, On how he might stop what he’d captured from stinking, It smelled even worse since he’d cornered and trapped it, So he picked up a rag and hastily wrapped it. “There,” said the man with a smile that was smug, “I’ve captured the beast, so now give us a hug!” “I’ll give you a kick, you dozy old crock. You’ve wrapped up the skunk in my very best frock!” “If you want a job done,” she snarled, “do it yourself,” So she picked up a treat from the rodent food shelf, And gently she offered the treat to the critter, Which opened its mouth and…you guessed it…it bit her! “Aaaaaargh!” cried Mrs.Squit dropping the treat, To the floor by the skunk in the frock by her feet, She cursed it and called it some very rude words, Which shocked all the fish and the mammals and birds. So Mr. Squit tried to entice out the varmint, From under the cover of Mrs. Squit’s garment. He laid out a long trail of treats on the floor, From next to the frock to the broom cupboard door, Then tiptoeing off with his trap fully baited, He gestured his wife to withdraw… and they waited. They sat and they waited and twiddled their thumbs, And jiggled their ill-fitting teeth in their gums, Until after an hour their wait was worthwhile, As the pungent pet stuck out its nose from the pile. It slowly emerged and it sniffed at a treat, Then feeling less timid it started to eat, Then on to the next one and then to one more, Never suspecting what fate had in store. For as it completed its eating manoeuvre, Squit nudged the poor creature in with the Hoover. “Quick, shut that door,” said the injured old dear, “Make sure that skunk doesn’t get back out here,” So Mr. Squit did what his wife had requested, And locked in the being in which they’d invested. The old fool turned with a big sheepish grin, Sorry for causing the fix they were in, And Mrs. Squit softened and said, “Never mind. The sight of your face by that skunk’s rank behind, Was so entertaining and terribly funny, A marvellous spectacle, well worth the money! Now change from that nightgown and socks you are wearing, While I give our pet shop a jolly good airing. And after we’ve given our heads time to clear, We’ll think what to do with old Stinky, my dear.” So off went the fellow to put on his togs, Mrs.Squit stayed with the cats and the dogs, She opened the windows and opened the doors, Then set about all of her pet feeding chores. And all of the while she pondered and thunk, About what they might do with the poor, little skunk. Back in the cupboard the skunk was in clover, Happy the trip in the truck was all over, After so many hours in a small wooden crate, It thought that the roomy broom cupboard was great, It sat and it felt absolutely contented, Amongst all the brooms and the smell it had vented. The mood in the shop was not quite so cheerful, Mrs. Squit now felt a little bit tearful, She and her husband had worked hard for ages, Building their business and drawing small wages, Putting a little bit by when they could, And drawing it out when things weren’t quite so good. If only they hadn’t been so very rash, Buying the skunk with the last of their cash, ‘Cause now with no currency left to deposit, They were skint with a stinking great skunk in their closet. The smell in the shop had now all but cleared, When all of a sudden this fellow appeared, “A customer, oh, what a pleasant surprise,” Thought Mrs. Squit urgently dabbing her eyes. Not wishing to scare off the man or unnerve him, She stood at the counter not rushing to serve him. She watched the man walking and browsing for ages, Sizing up all of the fish tanks and cages, Scanning the shelves and inspecting each pet, Probably thinking which one he should get. At last Mrs.Squit offered help with the matter, But the man drew a pistol and pointed it at her, Standing right next to the bunny enclosure, He said, “I want money, come on, hand it over!” The old biddy trembled and let out a yelp, Hoping her hubby might come down and help, But while she was being held up by the robber, Squit was still occupied, changing his clobber. “Do as I say and nobody gets hurt,” He said as he pulled a large bag from his shirt, “Put all of the cash from the till in this sack, And then I will make my escape out the back.” “It’s empty,” the old woman had to confess, “Financially we’re in a terrible mess, Nobody has been in our shop for some time, I don’t think we’re really quite right for your crime.” At this point old Squit made his way down the stairs, But the scene in the shop caught him quite unawares, The old-timer virtually swallowed his teeth, When he noticed his wife was held up by the thief. Now Squit was no hero and feared for his life, But felt it his duty to rescue his wife, He summoned what courage he could from inside, Then turned and went back up the staircase to hide. Meanwhile in the cupboard our old friend the skunk, Was dozing amongst all the cobwebs and junk, And while it was happily sitting and sleeping, Its nasty perfume was relentlessly seeping. “This robbery’s not going quite as you planned it” Remarked Mrs. Squit to the dozy great bandit. “We’re thoroughly broke,” she announced with a smile, “Perhaps you might like to pop back in a while.” At this point the robber began to get cross, It looked like his heist would result in a loss, He’d spent lots of cash on his sack and his shooter, And parked out the back was his shiny new scooter. “If you’ve got no money to give me,” he said, “I’ll take your most valuable item instead.” Now Mr. Squit listened from behind some old chairs, That stood in the hall at the top of the stairs, He had to do something; of this he was sure, To rescue his wife from the thief in the store. And as he was crouching and listening and hiding, He hatched an idea that was bold and exciting, And so he stepped out from the chairs on the landing, Down to the shop where the robber was standing. “What kept you?” said Mrs. Squit, slightly perturbed, “This chap has a gun and he’s rather disturbed. I told him that we have nothing to plunder, No cash in the till and our shop might go under.” “I simply refuse to depart,” said the felon, “Without something valuable that I can sell on.” “But, we’ve only one valuable thing in the place,” Said Squit with a mischievous look on his face, “Tell me, where is it?” enquired the hood, “I’m sorry,” said Squit, “I just don’t think I could.” “Tell me or else!” said the thief with the gun, “Tell him!” insisted the old female one. “Oh alright,” said Squit with a voice full of woe, “It’s there in the cupboard – just take it and go!” “Aha!” cried the thief with eyes filled with greed, As he strode to the closet to complete his cruel deed, The Squits stood well back and didn’t dare speak, As the crook grabbed the handle, which turned with a squeak, The door then swung open, and quick as a wink, Out spilled the skunk and a cloud full of stink. The gaseous mass took the crook by surprise, Attacking his nose and his mouth and his eyes, Blurring his vision, preventing his breathing, He stood there convulsing and gasping and heaving, Until the intruder could take it no more, And he slumped in a stinking great heap on the floor. “Oh my giddy Aunt, what have we done?” Said Squit as he bent down to pick up the gun. “That terrible stench was so pungent”, he said, “I think that it’s rendered the poor fellow dead”. “I don’t think he’s dead,” said the wife, “he’s just fainted, From breathing in all of that air that was tainted. You ring the police and I’ll get some rope, To tie up this nasty, unfortunate dope.” So that is nearly the end of this tale, The police came and took the offender to jail, He’d been their “most wanted” for over a year, He’d robbed lots of stores before trying it here, And with his capture there came a reward, And with it our heroes the Squits could afford, A marvellous Christmas, full of good cheer, Their happiest time for many a year. And with money left over and plenty to spare, The Squits shut the shop and were able to share, A happy retirement, long overdue, Doing the things that they’d always hoped to. But what of our old friend the skunk, you may query, Was its continuance equally cheery? In fact, that’s the most bizarre thing we’ve learned yet… The Squits kept the skunk as their very own pet.