Humor

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by Arthur D. Bardswell

In days of old when knights were cold
And armor was fur-lined,
Some wore this armor inside out.
(They weren’t the human kind.)

In Catalot, a hero rose;
King Arfur was his name.
And to his Great Round Feeding Bowl
Came fuzzy knights of fame.

Where champions failed and lords could not,
This kitten stood alone.
And single-pawed extracted he
The Great Claw from the Bone.

To serve the great King Arfur was
The dream of ev’ry Tom.
For Knights of Good Saint Felix were
The Cream of Pussen-dom.

From top of roof and under house
From bed and fav’rite spot,
Forsaking tree and scratching post,
They came to Catalot!

His glorious vision he proclaimed:
To make all cat-fights cease;
That cats should dwell in harmony,
Their litters raised in peace.

He held his court – the Great Mat near
The Royal Pussy-Door;
Enthroned upon the Rocking Chair.
(The man sat on the floor.)

The call was heard in far Fur-rance
By Prancelot du Lic.
When claws were crossed and teeth were bared,
He never missed a trick.

But noblest was Sir Purr-ceval
At whose name foes would howl.
And none could turn his purpose stern:
To seek the Holy Growl.


Copyright © 2007 David A Butler

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