Reading and enjoying these a lot, I thought - sauce for the goose, and so...
THE CATS IN THE HATS IN THE WALLS
The son of the scions of old de la Poer
Was never afraid of a mew nor a purr,
Until he alighted no more for to roam, to settle in his aboriginal home,
Now old Exham Piory, had rooms, it had grooms,
To tidy the stables, and fabulous tombs,
It had in its graveyard all marble and cold,
It had arms o'er the fireplace, all noble and bold.
It had butlers and sutlers, and hatstands for hats,
But oh what the wizz was it troubled by cats!
They mibbled and mubbled, they doubled and dribbled
They pibbled and pubbled, they troubled and tribbled.
But worse than their spitting, their spooking, and splatting,
Was when every jack one of them got into hatting.
They strolled out in bowlers, they popped up in toppers,
They wore tiny hats, and the wore some were whoppers,
Wished good day in bonnets, they doted on Boaters,
They boated in hats when they found some were floaters,
They howled out in hombergs, they affected the Trilby
Tore feathers from Gainsboroughs, which fact didn't thrill me.
And worse than the worst, there was something so new
For every hat came with Thing one and Thing two.
That's two things per cat, all a making a fussing,
And two things per cat is a double purr-cushing.
A clashing of cymbols and kettling of drums,
A horrible rumbling of rumpity tums.
So in the end what could old de la Poer do?
He bought him a hat, saying, he'd go mad too.
They found him at last crouching there, in the dark,
His teeth fixed at last in a Milliner's clerk,
Who'd failed to appease him, with Fez or Pork Pie,
Such minimal style meant the man had to die.
And still in the walls, and the rooms, and the tombs,
Still chasing the butlers, the sutlers, and grooms,
The wild whirling ride of the Cats in the Hats,
With a thing on each shoulder, went silent as Bats,
To mourn for the soul of the lost de la Poer,
Who'd boasted he fear'd not a mew, nor a purr.