Around the village he serenely glides
And nods in greeting as he passes by:
So dignified, his humor light and dry,
With gracious manners, ever he abides.
He smiles at all, at men and babes and brides,
In even temper, never strange nor shy,
Though no one knows quite when or even why
Or where he comes and goes with even strides.
He keeps himself immaculately clean,
His pinstriped suit still elegant and fine,
And no one knows he’s homeless now, through flaws
Or grave misfortune, stern and fierce and mean.
Yet never does he mourn, nor even pine,
Just glides by on his soft and cloud white paws.
The gentleman is currently ensconced in my dining room, which is equipped with cat climbers etc. He’s a marmalade mackerel tuxedo tabby and, alas, FIV positive.
His name’s Purrsey Blithe Shelley, as in “Hail to Thee, Blithe Spirit!”. He’s particularly partial to poultry.
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