by Mal Brown A tomcat at a tennis match Is not a common sight. I once saw one At Wimbledon, Just one seat to my right. He didn’t clap, he didn’t cheer, And not a word he spoke. He didn’t hiss But didn’t miss A single volley stroke. As we left those hallowed halls, The crowd abuzz with glee, I noticed that The glum tomcat Was walking next to me. “Why so glum?” I asked the cat. “Did you enjoy the match?” “Not a bit. I hated it,” Replied the old crosspatch. “In case you wonder why I’m here Dressed up in slacks and jacket, I hate the game— I only came ’Cause father’s in the racket.”
The end