A tenant describes the odd neighbors in his building with a deadpan calm that makes the whole thing funny. The upstairs flat now holds monks who chant at four in the morning, and the speaker half wishes for the previous tenant, a woman whose TV "ate cats." That's a ridiculous trade-off, and he treats it as a serious one.
The humor comes from his flat, matter-of-fact tone. A cat-eating TV is mentioned almost like a noisy appliance, and his real worry is a future monk who might learn the organ. The man downstairs, who drinks, ends the poem by mistaking the monks for ghosts and not caring. That shrug suits the mood: the speaker seems to accept that city life brings strange, loud neighbors, and he just endures them. The poem is absurd, gently comic, and oddly affectionate about the chaos around him.