That Darn Old Cat-Where Be He At? ... Poem by Michael Gale

I privy this-I privy that...
To sense the where abouts of that darned old cat.

That darned old cat that bats at bugs in the window sill...
Lays all day and catches rays and plays.

The sun bathe's that darned old cat...
Does he really care of where he's at?

That darn old cat knows he's cute...
He'll one day be a star-That awesome brute.

I shake and dangle a string in front of his inattentive and
unflexing stupor's face....
He finally jumps and pounces as if with a timed clock he is paced
in a race.

That darned old cat...
Does he know of where he is or even where be at?

That darn old cat does not know where he be...
To him-Everything is handed on a golden platter.

Does to him does it really matter? ...
No matter, no matter how far in life he'll go.
For the unobservance of that darn old cat-
He'll never do or show, since he be so awesomely fat.

He is fat...
That darn old cat.

He does not know that he is not a dog...
But that he be a cat-That darn old cat.