Good Sir Mouse lived in a hole in the wall:
A decent hole, though rather damp in winter,
Wedged into the corner of a rotting Victorian estate,
Which was owned by an aging woman who loved potpourri and candles
and CATS.

The lady did own a rather remarkable feline:
Long white fur and pudgy paws with a pink ribbon ‘round its neck,
Quick to chase yarn balls and curl up in front of the fire
But most of all, best of mouse-catchers to be found in a century.

Beyond the room of Good Sir Mouse’s hole and the territory of the Cat
was the KITCHEN.

In the kitchen resided a REFRIGERATOR.

Inside of this magnificent, humming monstrosity
Was the CHEESE.

Good Sir Mouse wasn’t much of a big eater; he was watching his cholesterol:
But even the slimmest of mice need some sustenance,
And times had been hard of late.
The old woman was no longer so keen on bringing food into Sir Mouse’s room,
And leaving accidental crumbs of apple cobbler trailing carelessly across the floor.

Little Sir Mouse was STARVING.

But, there was the ever-present issue of the CAT,
And being a modest mouse, he valued his hide and his bones intact
So day after day he cowered inside his hole
Ears pricked, fancying he heard the mewing cat
Pacing to and fro across the floorboards, coming ever nearer
Waiting for his chance.

Good Sir Mouse waited and hid and bid his time for that cheese
But alas, he waited too long.
His strength waned and, come Christmas Eve, the good little mouse
Curled up into his favorite corner of his hole
And breathed his last sigh
Dreaming of a wedge of the holiest Swiss cheese.

He never learned that the white cat had been given away to the neighbor:
The old lady disliked sneezing from floating cat hair,
And poor, poor Good Sir Mouse’s room had been vacant
For an entire week.