Hiding Place

My favourite hiding place is in my head, but I didn't think I'd get much of a blog out of that, especially at the end of a miserably wet Saturday. I decided instead to google images of 'unusual hiding places' in search of inspiration and this fine specimen turned up. I couldn't stop laughing. 

I don't know if it's AI generated, real but staged, or quirkily natural, and to be honest I don't care. I love it and it proved irresistible as a prompt for the latest from the imaginarium. It's all about the poem this week, a humorous tale. I give you...  

Refrigerator Cat

thinks he knows  where it's at, claims to be seeking sanctuary -

asylum  if  you  like -  from the  household  of  dogs.  He's cool

with the concept of  'refugee status', sits smug in our Smeg but

only when it suits him, when he wants a snack. He goes in thin

but he comes out fat. I tell him he's just a gastronomic migrant.

He looks  shocked or offended  by that, but there's no denying

he's trying it on.  Says he's not fat, just fluffed up to keep warm,

though I know where the leftover smoked salmon went and the

chicken breast so artfully wrapped, as he claims with a neat lick

of his lips that  he only moved the liver pâté to make room to sit.

It was a mystery at first, how the devil he managed to get inside
Was it opportunism, the door left carelessly ajar? I would chide
the kids who denied they were at fault, though they took delight
in the antics of refrigerator cat, felt a sense of pride, told friends
who’d come over after school in hopes of stroking his frosty fur.

It turned out the au pair as a joke had added his plaintive meow
to the voice-activated software of the smart Smeg’s door, so he
could enter but not leave whenever he chose, which was always
when no one else was around. Now we’re all used to paw prints
in the butter, claw marks on the cheese, we’ve done a deal with

refrigerator cat. He can make a meal of anything on the middle
shelf as long as he doesn’t touch the rest. We even leave treats
in there for him. He’s got a point about the dogs, they do pester
and it’s the one place he can get some peace. As for our au pair, 

we had to let her go. Turns out she'd not renewed her visa here.

Thanks for reading, S ;-)