By Bill Austin.
I search along the back streets
for an enclosure, and a bin.
Luck is sometimes with me
oft times, there's nothing in.
I haven't got a lot of choice
for hours I do my best.
Covering many distances,
in a peripatetic quest.
Pangs of hunger, drive me on
as most heights I can reach.
Though with DIY security
some fences I can breach.
I wander here, I wander there,
in purposeful pursuit.
Avoiding missiles aimed at me,
traversing the same old route.
Unfortunately scrawny, I
will not be getting fat.
Some old man taking pity
on this poor homeless CAT.
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