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!