She was known as the Cat Lady, or to those with a wicked tongue,
‘Mad’ Mabel, for everyone knew about her love of the genus cuddly feline.

She’d christened her pet cat Flunnel, after Viktor,
a Bulgarian ship’s waiter,
who had trouble with English pronunciation.

They’d met on a cruise while she was looking for a husband, 
but Mabel, being a bit of a snob, opted for a smooth-talking Moroccan.

‘I’ve got someone to look after for you,’ she declared, to Flunnel,
as if the animal could understand.

‘I’m taking another holiday in Morocco,
where I’ll marry the rich man who promised
to build me my own art studio.’

‘Oh no, not again!’ The panicking cat thought.
‘I hated the heat and smell of hashish,
and it was awful when she smuggled me into Marrakesh!

‘Anyway, who will the sitter be, not that idiot Monastrevin,
who tried to pull my tail?

‘He’s obsessed with the Loch Ness Monster, and also writes weird poetry.

‘Isn’t he the one she met at an art class, but rejected,
because he takes his clothes off, as an artist’s model?’

Just then, Reynard the fox, waking up in Pottlemangle Park, barked,
and far away, in Loch Ness, a large aquatic creature
whistled the traditional tune, A Foxy Lass From Inverness.

A fisherman asked, ‘Has the dance started already?’

But the tourist chief assured him, ‘No, it’s only the monster.’

As night fell the fox insisted that ‘Nessie is real,’
to an assembled company of cats,
rats and rabbits, at the weekly meeting of Animals Are One, 
a movement founded to protect persecuted creatures like the above,
from the genus human.

‘My ears are attuned to far-away antennae,’ he declared, 
and that unknown Scottish ‘beastie’ emits warning signals,
so I can avoid chasing horses and hounds.

‘I met her when I jumped on a trawler, for I love a nice bit of seawater salmon.

‘We sailed to the Isle of Man, where she was taking a break
from those annoying tourists in the Scottish Highlands,
and nearly caused international mayhem.

‘A Royal Navy destroyer thought her hump looked like a submarine,
but we picked up a load of fish when the idiots dropped depth charges.

‘After that experience I steer clear of docks,
contenting myself with smooching by the canal, among millionaire’s barges.

‘As I was saying – Nessie has retained the ability
to transflunnel – that is silently communicate between like-minded creatures,
such as the fox and those mythical beings derided by humankind – a gift passed
down by her paternal dinosaur, Grumpus Gislehocks.

‘By the way, I practise my leaps and bounds,
down at Chiswick Athletic Ground, where the Polytechnic Marathon used to finish.

‘It inspired me to keep fit, for a fox can get fat, eating left-over pizzas from waste bins.’

Flunnel piped up, ‘Apparently that guy who’s looking after me,
while Mabel is away, was a runner, but he was modest,
when pressed, about personal best times.

The fox nodded, ‘Oh, he’s an enigma, is Monastrevin.’

The cat conceded, ‘He does give me treats though,
but I can’t wait for the cat lady to come back.’

Meanwhile the chap himself mused, ‘I love a woman, yet can’t tell her that.’

The day before Mabel was due home, he filled Flunnel’s dining bowl, 
with treats especially cooked for her fussy palate, and left a note,
saying ‘I’m going to Loch Ness.

‘Last night I met a funny fox, who spoke of unrequited love,
and bid me go to a deep, mysterious body of water,
the home of a legendary animal, who like me, has been much derided.’                    

Hearing this from Flunnel, Reynard contacted Nessie, 
who vowed to welcome him, and, if he could write her a poem,
would be eternally grateful.

When Mabel arrived home, she sobbed on reading what he’d written,
saying ‘He’s obviously ill.’

Then Reynard jumped through the window and announced,
‘Nessie will pass a message to Monastrevin.

‘By the way,’ said the cat, ‘what happened to the rich Moroccan?’

Mabel looked embarrassed, as she answered,
‘Oh, he just wanted my body, not my art or a little feline.

‘What’s more, the Bulgarian waiter I named you after has married an heiress,
and I am persona non grata – wait a minute, you can both talk!’ 

‘Yes we can,’ said her much-loved pet, ‘and we sense in you a kindred spirit,
so have let you into our world, Miss Cat Lady.

‘Hang on,’ said the fox, who’d despatched a signal to Nessie, 
‘She says she’ll pass on your request to visit – yes, you really must –
to Monastrevin as he walks back from the weekly art class.

‘He supplements his income from writing poems about the ‘beastie’,
by posing for artists, and she’ll hum the tune, I Once Loved A Maiden, 
to attract his attention.

‘You could become The Cat Lady of Loch Ness,’ Flunnel told Mabel,
‘the locals like eccentrics, which is why they’ve taken so well to that eccentric art model.’

People searching for Nessie would often stop and admire the skill,
while that elusive creature remained hidden, 
of a woman sketching a little cat called Flunnel,
who one day announced to her lover Reynard the fox,
‘I’m expecting, you naughty boy.

‘Oh, by the way, Miss Mabel, you’ll soon have a kitten.’

The artist screamed with delight, and kissed the patient poet,
who told the fox, ‘Tell Nessie I’m working on her poem, 
but I promised my fiancée I'd be her eternal model.’

‘Yes you did!’ She interrupted, ‘and stop trying to pull the cat’s tail!’