Boss Cat Poem by Tom Billsborough

It is a sign of great munificence
That I am spared
One chicken leg
From Purry's modest feast.

I do not beg. I get the sense
That I am specially favoured
In his retinue of slaves.
Since he behaves
So generously to me.

Now if I am in luck
I even get a slice of duck
Though this rare
As that particular bird
Is top of Purry's menu.

Mine too! I consider,
As I place the tiny sliver
Upon my Chinese pancake
Spread with Hoisin sauce,
Checking its position minutely
With my microscope.

The problem is my cat
Is getting fat.
What's that? Put him on a diet?
But dietary control
Is not upon his schedules,
I'm afraid.

And, as for exercise, a languid stroll
Around the pond and back
Towards his larder
Or his choice of beds
Is Purry's plan.

As you can
See, he's retired
Early from the cares of life,
And I'm required
Just to open doors,
And hunt in stores
Like some old-fashioned wife!