The Anarchist and the Cat
For Revolte :D
At dead of night, beneath his cloak,
Eyes hidden by his hat,
An anarchist intent on crime
Was stared at by a cat.
It perched atop a dustbin lid
And calmly stroked its whiskers
And then addressed the anarchist
In confidential whispers.
It asked him what his mission was
It asked him who must die
It asked him why he dallied thus
In short it asked him why.
But the anarchist, eyes glinting
Beneath his hat’s wide brim,
Behind his shroud of darkling cloth
Just clenched his teeth and grinned.
Conversing with a cat, he thought,
Would mean he was insane,
And knowing that he wasn’t mad
Refused to play the game.
But the cat, who knew his business,
Just sat and calmly listened
For hoof beats on the cobbled street
That in the moonlight glistened.
Inside his stately carriage
The Crown-Prince sat and preened
And polished nails so manicured
They positively gleamed,
While outside in the dewy night
His coachman whipped his team,
Four stallions, black as midnight,
With their breath a misty steam.
The clatter of approaching hooves
Alerted then our pair,
The one equipped with dynamite,
The other who just stared.
Fumbling with the folds of cloth
The anarchist prepared,
He lit the fuse and flung his bomb
Too hyped for feeling scared.
Then the cat, who knew his business,
Dropped down behind his bin,
And stopped his ears with cotton wool
To shield them from the din.
Exploding like the wrath of God
With sheets of flame let fly
The Prince’s coach (and bits of Prince)
At last came down nearby.
The anarchist, who screamed his joy,
Then turned and ran away
The cat though just unstopped his ears
And mourned this awful day.
He knew what this night’s work would bring:
By war the world left flat:
And all because an anarchist
wouldn’t listen to a cat.
