The Wabbit and Skratch the Cat were taking a small vacation in Dublin, just to see old haunts. They ambled along Raglan Road. The Wabbit hummed the tune and Skratch meaowed along. But when the Wabbit got to the end of the first verse, "Let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day," Skratch exclaimed, "Too melancholy Wabbit. Do you know anything brighter?" The Wabbit laughed and warbled. "There's whiskey in the jar!" He did a jig and they both kicked leaves as they rounded the corner. "What's this?" exclaimed the Wabbit. They could hardly ignore the box. The Wabbit examined it. "It's from China." Skratch snickered. "Everything is!" They looked it up and down. "What shall we do? We can't just leave it here." Skratch had been a cat burglar in his time, so he smiled. "Technically, it's thrown away, so it belongs to the finder." The Wabbit wasn't so sure. "Maybe it fell off the back of a lorry." "Same thing," murmured Skratch. The Wabbit poked the top. "Might be an explosive device." Skratch kicked it for a few metres. Packing materials fell out. Nothing else. "Nope," he purred. "No device. But as it happens, I could use a box." He plucked it from the ground with a paw. They made their way to Pembroke Road. "Quick one at Searsons?" asked Skratch. "Drop of the Cratur," replied the Wabbit. He thought about their schedule. All the details had been left to Skratch. "How are we getting home?" Skratch meaowed. "Susan the Biplane from Newcastle Aerodrome, 4pm." "Time for two drops then," laughed the Wabbit. "And a slap-up lunch," purred Skratch.
[Raglan Road. Songwriters: Sean Taylor/Patrick Kavanagh. Lyrics © Straitjacket Songs Ltd.,
Sgo Music Publishing Ltd.]
