Ode to a dead cat--
Ode is like odor, I know it so well
She thought it important, for me her to smell.
She wanted to caress me, in feline slime to spread
to cover my pantsleg, with her tail up when fed.
She was just fine in catching a household pest
but lacked a lot for reason of doing her duty best.
I fed her for many years, well, maybe one in truth,
and what did she do for me? Gave me a packet of crap, kittens so uncouth.
And then one day, some hamburger I went to thaw,
and there she was, hiding with tooth and claw.
She lept upon the meat, frozen and full of chill,
and knocked it to the ground, to feed and fill her fill.
To check upon my supper, outside I did go
And there she was, supping on my dough.
In anger, I whipped out my thirty eight,
And popped off three rounds, her soul there to take.
She split out northbound, tail mighty low,
flipping sideways as hot lead came too close.
Well, later, thinking all was done, I began to meditate
On all that had been done; was I rash, or was it fate,
That stinky cat became, a monument to human waste,
A sad and singular pause, to humanity's special taste.
Well, woe is me, she got the best,
for all that happened, she won the test.
The bitch crawled under the house, her life there to end
My bullets having struck their mark, the body beyond mend.
And so she died, under my house, in the insulation where I dare not feel,
but still I cannot find, despite the flies and smell, the leftovers of that goddammed cat who condems my life to hell.
Cheeze, it stinks!
jim |
