Mr. Smither was in a dither while fixing his old house one day.
Kneeling on the floor, his knees were sore, a rusty nail was in his way.
His floor was squeaky, sometimes creaky, a shiny nail would do the trick.
But first he must, remove that rusty nail, a task that should be quick.
He tried and tried, he pulled and pried, his hammer wouldn’t win this fight.
The more he pulled, that nail would hold, onto that board with all its might.
His arms soon ached, he took a break, and came up with different angle.
A crowbar would, release for good, this nail with which he’d been entangled.
He hooked the claw, he clenched his jaw, he mustered up his strength and brawn.
He cranked with force, so much of course, he knew that nail would soon be gone.
Then what transpired, that nail it fired, like a bullet through the air.
Across the room, with a sonic boom, it bounced off the old-rocking chair.
In that chair, was often where, his Cat named Fred would take his naps.
Fred slept this day, snoozing away, dreaming of catching mice perhaps.
Unaware, of the oncoming scare, that would quickly give him quite a fear.
Poor Fred he leapt, from where he slept, straight up into the chandelier.
Mr. Smither, still in a dither, ran to see what he’d begat.
He was shocked, the chair it rocked, but in the seat there was no cat!
Then he heard a cry, from toward the sky, he looked to see poor Fred in fright.
The lamp was swinging, Fred was clinging, his big wide eyes were quite a site.
He grabbed his ladder, to fix this matter, and climbed up to the precipice.
He reached for Fred, who filled with dread and soon began to growl and hiss.
Then Fred decided, somewhat misguided, that he would rather try to jump.
‘Cause cats survive, they have nine lives, Fred nailed the landing with a thump.
With this commotion, in slow motion, Mr. Smither high upon that ladder.
First he twisted, then he listed, then he fell with quite a clatter.
Lo and behold, it knocked him cold, he lay there in a foggy trance.
Mrs. Smither, now in a dither, she quickly called an ambulance.
The Doctor said, “well, he’s not dead, just some bruises where he hit.”
“But I’d suggest, it would be best, to stay off ladders for a bit.”
The moral here, it is quite clear, if your floor might have a squeaky board.
Just let it squeak and let it creak, lest you end up in a hospital ward!
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The Brown Road Chronicles 