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The Cat out of the Bag. This poem is based on my life, when living in the 'Slums' of the East-End of London. I shall post a number of these poems, taken from my book called ...'The Pea-Souper'. Should anyone want to understand some of the 'Slang' words used, please ask. THE CAT OUT THE BAG. Down Whitechapel way Where sunlight was grey And all the had lice The cats were not pets There was no bleedin’ Vets Cats were just kept for the mice When the cat got too old So the mice got too bold And the cat got a thumpin’ Said an ’Old Gal’ to me ‘Here’s a ’Bob’ for you, see Put the cat in a sack and dump him’ So it was, down our way No regrets, as they say I carted the cat on a roam But I gives a bloomin’ shout As the cat clawed its way out And hightails it back to its home But the thing is, you see I’m a spender, that’s me I’d spent the ‘Bob’ on a snack The cat’s sat by the door Of its owner, what’s more The ‘Old Gal’ wants her money back But that’s not your cat Does say I, quick as that Your cats is gone miles away But her hand is out ‘Does you want a clout! That’s me cat, not a look-alike stray And truth does appear For the cat’s got one ear And fighting has lost its claws So I’m off on me todd ‘Yer thieving little sod!’ She yells, calling the cat back indoors 
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