Frilly and Binx

Two of my dad's favourite things combined here: animals and poems. He had a long succession of cats from Kelly, Julian and Blackie in the 80s, through to April and Scratch in the 90s and Frilly and Binx more recently. Frilly is still catching mice and misses Spiro as much as any of us. Her brother Binx is currently whereabouts unknown - although the traffic in Roath is pretty unforgiving, there have been a few sightings now and then, and he was a tough cat . There were also the famous Video Nation budgies, Penney and Dale named after Cardiff City stars of the day.

Frilly the Cat

This poem, like most of his poems, is sweet and silly but also shares a deeper truth: in this case, the fine-balanced relationship between man and animal
But really, it shows how much he loved his cats.

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Frilly & Binx

Let’s analyse the vagaries

Of keeping pets for pleasure

Is it perhaps ridiculous

To call animals a treasure

What benefits can they provide?

What riches can we measure

Is there a profit or return

In keeping pets for pleasure?

To start: pets are a paradox

They grow up, yet they don’t

You bring them up, you nurture them

But leave home?  No, they won’t!

They are comparable to babies

In the ways they need our care

For there is a God-like quality

That eternally we share

We can condemn or punish

We can comfort or reward

We can pamper living creatures

We can put them to the sword

We are tyrant and dictator

We are master to a slave

Yet the more we learn to love them,

The more loving they behave

Yes, the more we learn to love them

The more loving they behave

A self revealed philosophy

Sounding from the psyche’s cave

Binx and Frilly, bruv and sis

They’re my cats, that’s what they is

Nose to nose is how they kiss

Binx and Frilly, Frills & Binx!

Frills is black, and Binx is too

But his belly’s white as snow

When he rolls across the floor

It’s the zebra crossing show

When he perches on my lap

Pure white shirt and pure white gloves

He’s a concert pianist

Quite the best of Frilly’s bruvs

He can balance on the telly

Between Photograph and clock

He can stare just like an ornament

Art nouveau as ‘cat with sock’

White whiskers curling upwards

Like a grin by Salvo Dahli

White cotton wool inside his ears

He can look a right old Charlie

Binx and Frilly, bruv and sis

They’re my cats, that’s what they is

Nails to nails is how they hiss

Binx and Frilly, Frills & Binx!

Frills is little, gold her glare

Black and beautiful as coal

Sleek as silk she strokes my legs

Guiding me towards her bowl

She has scratched my yucca bare

And my cordaline and couch

But I tell you I don’t care

Unless it’s me she scratches… Ouch!

While still kittens, to my folly

I released my birdies both

As they flew out for a jolly

How they screeched a budgies oath

Squash and Tickle are my budgies

The conservatory they fly

You may have guessed that with my cats

They do not see eye to eye

They perch upon the yucca

And call Binx & Frilly names

And then upon the window ledge

Pour invective from the frames

Tickle is a cobalt blue

And thinks kittens are just ground-hogs

Squash radiates a turquoise hue

And toilettes over silly old mogs

But  budgies trying to dive bomb cats

Is not a good idea

Binx caught Squash on the rubber plant

Till he got pecked on his ear

To avoid a similar fate

Happening to Tickle too

I flapped a tea towel in his face

So he’d flap up to the roof

Did he fly up to the perches

I hooked hanging from the roof

Did he make the ten foot yucca

From which he eyes the world aloof?

No, he never left the branch

Yes, my zealousness the cause

I flapped him down towards the ground

Right into Frilly’s claws

I had to pick her up and shake her

I admit I feared the worst

To pull the poor bird from her grasp

Might leave bits of him inversed

The birds were none the worse for wear

But outings now are few

They’ve both recovered from the shock

And I’ve recovered too!

The birds still yell abuse at them

From the safety of their cage

But cats can wait for ever

Revenge is sweet at any age

Now Binx thinks Frilly’s silly

And Frilly thinks Binx stinks

But Frilly’s willy-nilly

Each time she thinks of Binx

Then Binx thinks Frilly is a minx

And Frilly thinks Binx silly

So one thinks what the other thinks

And that’s my Binx and Frilly

5 September 2007

Poor Tickle died November 2009, a year after poor Squash

And Millie & Toots bought in January 2010, bright yellow and beautiful.