Libertarian Cat

My first life was nasty,

I didn’t live long.

My second was brutish,

I did much that was wrong.

My third life was short,

But not sweet, like a song.

My fourth life was better,

I was fed and grew strong.

My fifth life was hasty,

The sixth was quite Pooterish,

As I grew self-important,

Eating all that was tasty,

And came to ‘belong’

To some well-meaning people,

Who still couldn’t prolong

My existence, and so,

I was squashed by a moped,

Or something else scooterish.

My seventh passed by in a blur in Hong Kong,

Where the people themselves were not really free,

And seemed rather jealous of pussies like me,

My eighth was no blessing, as I lived among

People who had their ideas all wrong.

But the ninth is a wonder,

The best of all worlds,

I have shelter, protection and food and small birds,

And yet I can roam, far away from my home,

Pleasing myself like a Dong,

Without a luminous nose.

And although I suppose

That this life is the last,

I have learned a great deal from the ones that have passed.