The Alternative Advent: Day 8
The Secret Life of Bailey Cats—
There’s danger in the air…
When like vampire bats,
there’s tacit catsent
circumventing other cats’
nose for a scent—
And feline-combat
who’ve their bents made too fat,
Hell dis-management’s lent
dire rules supplemental:
cos unless you’ve not noticed
they’re all derangemental…
So it’s war for clan Bailey:
‘no fire fur first’
for engagement is lore—
before who comes out worst—
we’ll see three pick on one:
in a fight to the last paw…
The sound of discrete feet(s)
abound are coming
from somewhere(s) over there-
It’s Fritz: she sneaks around and sits;
I think sensing purring in the air.
Then a sound disturbs her.
Potts smells catburger.
and Jabber,
thinks he’ll have her,
to himself.
So by stealth on delft paws,
she beelines for the doors
between Jabber’s hind legs
and Pott’s jaws…
Sandwiched tippy-toes to mind her
she’ll be sure they’ll not find fur
to lead them;
cos they know
she’s frightened of claws.
Tri’s pounces were announcements,
she’d discredit then denounce them—
any cat who had motives
less emotive than hers.
No tit-for-tat, prattle-splat
at this or spat at that
or bric-a-brac
and cranny.
She’ll take a look
in every nook such are
snooks-a-cocked, uncannily.
Guggie’s slink was succinct
and instinctively trying.
her cruelty ensuredly unindemnifying.
So when she offered to nobble
Fritz’s mid-thorax bobble:
an offer as kind as maligned by design.
“Fluff?” Frtiz thought ought,
not be enough—
had Guggie
tried to “break me—
in half!”
She puffed
and waved away the axe—
and immediately.
Declined…
With revolt in her steps
you can bet that she crept
like a colt from the bolt
(e)scapegracely.
A prima facie evasion,
from oedemas and abrasions;
Fritz was not
in way, shape or form
porkholt.
Although Fritz found the chasing
at times too defacing
she was so gracefully pacey and
If I’d’ve seen her,
I would’ve timed her.
but that’s before she’d seen
gleaming
and sheaningly gleaned
the dreamcat
catkilling
machine:
Guggenheimer…