Tom O'connor's Cat Poem by Joe Hughes

In a tiny little house
In Armagh City, by the Mall,
Lived an aging Tom O'Connor
With his cat who was his pal.

Tom had lost his dearest wife
Many years before that time,
But there's a story to his cat
Which he'd grown to love so fine.

It was a gypsy in the 50s
Who Tom had met along his path.
She was selling six small kittens -
Five were thin, just one was fat.

So, Tom bought the little fat one,
Having thought for quite a while.
'You have chosen very well',
The gypsy whispered with a smile.

Now this cat grew up so quickly,
Became so nimble, lithe, so lean.
He was Tom's constant companion
No matter where our Tom was seen.

But it wasn't long before our Tom
Believed his cat was different from the rest.
For Tom's cat was not a mouser,
Had no time for household pests.

One day Tom had quit work early.
Bad flu symptoms was the reason.
To discover this fine cat of his
Fiddling Vivaldi's great Four Seasons!

The shock! - It sent Tom in a spin
As his cat played Vivaldi to the finish.
Then rising uttered 'Go raibh maith agat'
Which is 'Thank you' in plain Irish.

On Tom's road the children all dressed up
On Halloween as ghouls, yes bats,
But Tom's cat became a living witch
With a very scary hat.

In the distant Armagh mountains
As Tom brewed poteen on a still,
Tom's cat would keep a lookout
For raiding policemen on the hills.

As Tom would play a hand of poker
The cat would curl around his feet.
Then woe betide the player
Who Tom would call a cheat.

So time went by, they both grew old,
Each one caring for the other.
They'd lived a life so full of joy
With very little bother.
Until one day the gypsy from the 50s
Appeared, as Tom's soul was Heaven bound -
Then Armagh City dwellers said
That Tom O'Connor's cat could not be found!