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I am the mat where sat the cat.
I am rectangular and flat.
Most people rarely pause to think,
was that mat blue or was it pink,
was it a mat of Turkish weave,
its pattern subtle or naive?
Did it have tassels with loose threads
that jiggled like a Rasta’s dreads,
or was that mat thin and time-worn,
world-weary, abject and forlorn?
No, quite forgotten is the mat
though all recall that bloody cat.