Not last night, but the night before,
Three tom cats came knocking on my door.
One had a fiddle, one had a drum,
One had a pancake stuck to its bum.
On a snowy January night, a variation of the above playground song came to mind. Take note, this isn’t a cute, nostalgic story where I want to skip rope and chant rhymes. It’s a doggone tale about a stinky tail. Something indeed stuck to one’s bum, but it wasn’t a pancake.
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