The Last Light in the Kitchen

The Last Light in the Kitchen

The last light in the kitchen
Went out at half past three,
The cook had washed and cleaned it all,
As spotless as could be.

The pots were stacked, the floors were scrubbed,
The shelves were spick and span,
But underneath the kitchen door
A cheeky mouse just ran.

He sniffed around the biscuit tin,
Then gave a little squeak,
“Come on, you lot, the coast is clear,
The chef’s away all week!”

The mice came marching one by one,
And started having fun,
One fell inside the powdered soup
And shouted, “Blimey, Mum!”

The flour flew, the sugar spilled,
The biscuits hit the floor,
And one fat mouse got stuck inside
The refrigerator door!

At five o’clock the rats arrived,
All hungry, fat and bold,
One shouted, “Where’s the blooming grub?
This kitchen’s flaming cold!”

They scoffed the cheese, they ate the pies,
They polished off the lot,
And scattered right across the floor
The remnants of hotpot.

And so it carried on all week,
The mice were having fun,
The rats were getting fatter,
And the damage wasn’t done!

They danced upon the kitchen tops,
They scoffed up every treat,
They even held a party
With their muddy little feet!

But when the chef came back at last,
He let out such a shriek,
“Who the bloody hell’s been in here?
I’ve only been away a week!”

He stamped his feet, he shook his fists,
His face was turning red,
“If I catch the little blighters,
They’ll wish they’d stayed in bed!”

He bought himself a mighty cat,
The finest he could buy,
And soon the mice and rats had gone,
Without a last goodbye.

But then the chef discovered
His troubles weren’t quite over,
For that greedy cat was twice as bad,
So he bought a dog called Rover.

Now Rover slept both day and night,
And all he did was eat,
He wasn’t keen on chasing cats,
He had a taste for sweet!

He pushed his nose against the fridge
And popped the door open wide,
The cakes, the buns, the cream éclairs
Went straight to Rover’s inside!

The chef cried, “What a blooming joke!
I’ve had enough of you!
I bought you here to guard the place,
Not eat my puddings too!”

He called the men who dealt with pests,
Who came with sprays and pills,
But all the nasty smells they made
Just gave the poor chef chills.

He tried a trap, he tried a broom,
He tried a great big hat,
But nothing seemed to work at all,
Not even that daft cat!

At last he threw his apron down
And shouted, “That’s the ticket!
I’m selling up this blasted place,
I’m off to play some cricket!”

He left the mice, he left the rats,
He left old Rover too,
He slammed the kitchen door behind
And shouted, “I’m THROUGH!”

And now the kitchen’s empty,
Or so the neighbours say,
But every night at half past three
The mice come out to play.