A Reader's Poem About Bridget McCafferty




For the most part, reader reaction around these corners alternates between, "You guys are idiots," and veiled racism and hatred. Every once in awhile, however, you surprise us.

Our inbox lit up with a missive from "T.S. Idiot" this morning, and he came armed with a not-at-all-bad parody of T.S. Eliot's "McCavity - The Mystery Cat." We enjoyed it enough to pass along to you.

To those of you who didn't take the time to write a parody poem about Cuyahoga County politics for us, feel free to leave comments below like, "You guys are idiots" — we never tire of those.

McCafferty - The Mystery Judge — by T. S. Idiot
(with apologies to T S Eliot)

McCafferty's a Mystery Judge: she's called the Hidden Paw—
For she's the master jurist who defies Ohio Law.
She's the bafflement of Mason, the F.B.I.’s despair:
For when they reach her chambers—McCafferty's not there!

McCafferty, McCafferty, there's no one like McCafferty,
They say that she’s unethical; she breaks the law of gravity.
Her powers of levitation would make Chriss Angel stare,
She floats above conviction’s reach—McCafferty's not there!
You may seek her with a wiretap, you may look up in the air—
But I tell you once and once again, McCafferty's not there!

McCafferty's a ginger cat, she's neither tall nor lean;
You would know her if you saw her, for her eyes are very green.
Her brow is never lined with thought, she’s never bothered thinking;
“I’m Irish and a Democrat,” she tells you as she’s winking.
“To be elected as a judge, you don’t need brains or fame.
“In Cuyahoga County, all you need’s an Irish name.”

McCafferty, McCafferty, there's no one like McCafferty,
She's a fiend upon the judge’s bench, a monster of depravity.
You may meet her on a side street, or perhaps on Public Square—
But when a crime's discovered, then McCafferty's not there!

She's outwardly respectable. (They say she cheats at cards.)
And her footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
So when a case is settled based on terms Frank Russo dictates,
Or the Plaintiff has some friends in power whose influence is first-rate,
Or favors are requested that some might think quite unfair—
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! McCafferty's not there!

The United States’ Attorney thinks the judge has gone astray,
And he wants the files and records on her cases, by the way.
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair—
But it's useless to investigate—McCafferty's not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Special Agents say:
"It must have been McCafferty!"—but she's a mile away,
Raising funds for her campaign or marching in some town’s parade,
Planning for her re-election (if she’s not in the stockade).

McCafferty, McCafferty, there's no one like McCafferty,
There never was a judge with fewer wits or less sagacity.
She always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
And whatever time the deed took place—BRIDGET WASN'T THERE!
They say that all the cats whose wicked deeds create disorder
(I might mention Mr. Russo or Commissioner Dimora)
Are nothing more than agents for the judge who all the time
Just controlled their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

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