Arrrr, ye scurvy scalawags!
That’s right, my friends, we are still in the midst of the awesomest holidays of the year, and this week, as you know, marks Talk Like a Pirate Day! Meoarrr!
I’ve been working on a mighty fine pirate poem for you, mateys, but before I share, I feel the need to address some rumors that have been passing for news here at Tabby’s Place. “Aggressive”. “Bully”. These words have been used to describe my behavior this month, in particular towards Morgan and Peachy. You know I am a passionate cat (what artist doesn’t burn with some fire within?), but I don’t see the need to get personal about my expressiveness. You understand, I have been working in character on this month’s selection. Yes, as a pirate. You can hardly expect that as such I’d be all cuddles and kisses. Prozac be darned! I must answer my muse! And after you read this month’s opus, I’m sure you’ll agree.
A Ballad of Boots Silver
We were feline, wild and rakish, with such long and lissome tails,
And we flew the pretty colours of the crossbones and the skull;
We’d a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at the fore,
And we sailed the Ringoes waters in the happy days of yore.
We’d a pile of fish amidships, like a well-conducted ship,
We had each a brace of haddock and a flounder at the hip;
It’s a point which tells against us, and a fact to be deplored,
But we chased the other kitty-cats and took their snacks aboard.
Then we fell cats claimed the suppers and the others meowed in vain,
And the paint-work all was spatter dashed with other food’s remains,
It was chewéd, it was gnawéd, it was gobbled till we sank
Full sated, and the others tasted nothing but the plank.
O! then it was (while standing by the litterbox with poop)
We could hear the hungry cats lament their absent chicken – oops!
Then, having washed our faces clean, we’d little else to do
Than to nap all o’er the lobby, as the old cats taught us to.
O! the snoring at reception, and the sighing ‘neath the chair,
And the genial “On the table, Boots, you’ll sleep in open air!”
With the nighttime all around us and the pale moon overhead,
And the look-out not a-looking (for he’d gone to bed instead).
Ah! the proud-tailed, yowling pirates and the pretty pranks we played,
All have since been put a stop to, by the human folk betrayed;
So Peachy and that Morgan are safe for now to rest,
When Prozac takes this pirate cat and makes him much less stressed.
Arrrr! And much love from your very favorite pirate, too.
Your Boots