The Cat and his Lady

On my trip from Buea, I once met a cat,

White and grey, a feline brat.

In a bag he was, stay still he didn’t.

By jove I prayed, hop out, he shouldn’t.


The lady who bore him, was very indifferent

To the ranting and caution of passengers present.

I thought to myself, “What manner of travel is this?

“To be bundled with strangers and now a cat to kiss?”


In terror I watched as she bundled the fiend,

In a ‘sacs and motors’ she put the not so human being.

With each pot hole, he squeaked.

With each sharp squeak, I peeked.


I wondered if he paid his taxes.

Whether he used the internet or prophylaxis.

After the silence, I thought he was dead.

With the next series of squeaks, I wished I was sort of deaf.


Why would a cat travel?

Why slave it to grovel?

Inside a ‘sacs and motors’ in a moving car?

On a road filled with pot holes and treacherous tar!


I felt bad for my fiend the cat.

Truly, I prefer cats to…say…bats!

I wouldn’t want one for breakfast. Yuk.

I wouldn’t own one even to please Bjork.


But the lady in question I find very despicable.

I wish I could bring her to justice to a feline authority capable.

Oppressing a feline and letting his rights go to neglect!

Lady! The least you could have done, was buy him a ticket!



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