Saturday, March 15, 2008

A Poem by Whistle

A temper do I have me now,
Upon my furred and whiskered brow,

No one wilt play with me this day
I'd soon they banish all away,

No bathtub bashing,chase or bite,
For this poor puss...wailing plight.

by Whistle because Prof. Whiskers made us write poetry which is stupid because cat poetry involves the whole cat's movement and subtle meowing, not words in "meter". I am being prepared for a cat world that does not exist! I do not care for Cat Academy!


Spooky said...

Poor Whistle. Your poem is good, but sad.

Keep up your studies and you'll get to be a wise old Cat.

Songbird said...

I appreciate your poem, though I agree with your assessment of Cat Academy.

Deb said...

Dear Whistle
I understand completely. For pastors-in-training, it is called "seminary" and I am tired of being prepared for a world that does not exist.

So think Greenie thoughts and I will think beach-thoughts and we will both get our assignments done.