On my desk sitting next to a mug of Ovaltine are seven poems.
I can't decide which ones to take along to the Poetry Group tomorrow evening, shall I take 'Woman' or 'Love Monster' or 'A Beautiful Melody'.
I expect I'll make the decision just before I step into my black patent shoes at 7p.m.
Monty is by my side, he's limp and groggy because he's been up a long time and he's jam packed with cheap tuna.
So before I steep myself in Vaseline I'll gaze at the big fat lad and try to imagine how it feels being a cat.
