We moved into a new house, my Jimmy and I
Wanted to live on our own, give it a good try
It was pretty, small and sweet
I kept it nice and neat
Beans out the back, and out the front, a seat
At first we were happy, Jimmy used to play
Out in the garden, running around all day
But as March turned into June,
Things began to change
Became a little eerie, and just a little strange
I was cooking pasta, Jimmy’s mac and cheese
When the Microwave turned on, easy as you please
Then it turned off again,
I said ‘What the bloody hell?’
I furtively checked the power cord, to find that all was well
One night I woke up, yearning for some tea
I had aches and pains yet again in my stubborn bad left knee
But as I turned the kettle on,
It jumped onto the chair
It began tap dancing merrily, just like Fred Astaire
I wacked it with a spoon, it landed on the floor
I picked up the kettle, and threw it out the door
Breathing hard, I stared at it
With a great deal of suspicion
But that little kettle was nothing but contrition
Last week I asked Jimmy to turn the heater on
To drag it down the hall, so the cold would be gone
Two minutes later he was back
And panicked, I could see
‘Mummy, the heater grew legs and then it kicked me!’
I rang the agent, ‘Sir, I’ll share with you some wisdom
This little house has had it’s share of problems’
He said ‘I forgot to say,
the last owner had died’
I said ‘Bugger this’ and moved back to North Ryde
The Independent Philosopher 