Monday, September 27, 2004

It's a pity that a kitty grows up to be a cat.
When they're kittens I am smitten -- those fuzzy acrobats

Are real cute in pursuit of some fun unabashed
Like at Joan's -- at her home, one night I had to crash

Her critter had a litter, there were three kittens left
Ran around, oh the sound, bound to make you deaf

Scamper-bam! Slamity-slam! Crash-bash-boom. Screech! Scamper!
Tranquility? Impossiblity. Toss that dream down the hamper.

Soon I found that the sound wasn't all that odd
I deduced I grew used to the klutzy clods

Late that night -- it wasn't right -- I heard something new
Sounded scared. It declared, "Mew! Mew! Mew! Mew! Mew!"

So I looked for the schnook to save him from his doom
His poor cries, I surmised, came from the dining room

Saw no cat, only that incessant howling racket
But slumped there, on a chair, was my leather jacket

Bovine hide, and inside, I saw it sure enough
Little snout, head stuck out the bomber's narrow cuff

My right sleeve, I believe, the dude thought was a tree
Cow-hide cave was his grave unless I set him free

Undid the snap -- no more trap -- fresh air the kitty'd meet.
He slid clear, on his ear -- would he land on his feet?

Bonk! His head hit instead, but he seemed to be okay
He said "mew!" -- a thank you? -- and then he dashed away

Saved the kitty, and I admit he got me thinking twice
Of the Persians and other versions of creatures who eat mice

But the beeline toward the feline, I'm afraid that it had peaked
The next morning, without warning, I tell ya I was freaked.

It was scary--chest that hairy? No, fur made me go "Bleck!"
Sleevey-Dude and his brood were sleeping on my neck.


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