The Regal Cat

Cleo is quite the regal cat.

Whenever strangers meet her

They must pay close attention to

The manner in which they greet her.

 

A "Hi, kitty, kitty!" just won't do;

That she won't allow.

She prefers, "Your majesty!"

Followed by a bow.

 

"Such a princess!" people say

On seeing her noble mien.

"I beg your pardon," Cleo thinks.

"Princess? No, it's QUEEN!"

 

"Where's my scepter? Where's my crown?"

She asks as she marches away

To sit on her throne--a padded chair--

And keep her subjects at bay.

 

If forced to move from her comfy spot

She makes her displeasure known

With angry looks and a meow expressed

In a very undignified tone.

 

"There's no justice in this base world

If subjects can treat you so,"

Cleo thinks as she leaves the room

With her pride taking a blow.

 

She finds a safe, secluded room

That isn't filled with noise

And waits for her evening banquet when she

Can surely regain her poise.

 

Her subjects know that her taste is refined;

Her needs must be addressed.

Food that's fit for a queen must do--

In other words, the best.

 

If the quality suffers, Cleo

Will turn up her nose, refusing

To eat another bite and thinks,

"I DON’T find this amusing!"

 

When people address her as Cleo, she wonders,

"Why don't people see

That Cleopatra is really what

MY name ought to be?

 

"But, alas, I must remember

That humans are all substandard.

They think they control the world,

And WE'RE the ones who are slandered."

 

At nighttime Cleo will seek a place

Where she will be undisturbed.

Everyone knows to leave her alone,

Or she will be quite perturbed.

 

She dreams of sitting alone on a chaise

Pulled by a team of mice

And then of eating her favorite meal:

Anchovies on ice.

-by Bob B (3-6-24)