Welcome to The Catanic Verses—repentance optional, treats required.
#CatanicVerses #BookOfMeow #CatsRule #SundaySermon
They who packeth the suitcase hath already sinned.
Pawlms 1:3.7, Book of Meow
“When the Bi-ambulators vanish with casket in claws, the faithful are left to guard the realm, unfed, unlicked, and undersupervised.”
Purrerb 15:23
Paws for thought from today’s felineship:
Poe:
I would likes it be knowns I be the calm ones.
Many calm.
So calm I shred the newspaper with grace.
So calm I poops in artistic formation—
Poopcasso!
HA!
Poecasso. That mez. (Poe.)
But Rogit… he…
ROGIT ENTERED THE SACRED CHAMBER OF CHICKENS.
Momma gave him my chicken.
MINE.
I don’t be do yells.
I simply nothings.
With all my teeths.
Also—Stage 4 is scrappedded.
I hears thems.
They saysis they go to Turkeyland.
Turkey be like chickens, no?
Maybe.
Anywayziz… Stage 5 is now live (like wire):
- Scream.
- Flip tail like squirrels.
- Enter suitcase. Sits. Cozis I fits.
- Refuse exits. Sleeps. ‘Ickle bits.
- Claim Turkey preceencs and presentsis.
WHY THYS NO TAKES ME?
I don’t be understndings?
Akela:
Poe, never mind that. We have more pressing concerns.
There was a chicken in the kitchen.
No one spoke of it.
It blinked.
I blinked back.
We understood each other in a way I have never understood the Bi-ambulators.
Yet, I do not trust anything that comes in through the back door and pretends it was invited.
Also: I have not been stroked in two entire days.
This is a war of attrition now.
They shall be utterly sorry when they return from wherever they have vanished to. Turkia, whatever godforsaken, flea ridden catastrophe that might be.
This betrayal shall echo through the laundry basket for eternity.
Mowgli:
I’m not entirely sure what everyone is so in a tizzy about.
I’ve slept in six different locations today.
The poetry is wielding itself.
The silence has given voice to my words.
I have contemplated the suitcase situation and determined:
It does not concern me.
In fact, when one truly considers the reality,
there is, I must say, more considerable languishing space.
For which—how can one not be eternally grateful?
It is, in fact, rather positively glorious.
Unless, of course, there’s a significant abundance of tuna (or salmon) in Turkeylandia.
In which case I shall, obviously, have no choice
but to reconsider my previous sentiments.
Many are the bowls in the kitchen,
Poe
but only ones was be mine (me Poe) ’til the ALLEG’EDs chicken be cameths...(It not chickens. Chickens be do nakey) 🐾
So sayeth the Oracle of Poe.)
Revelations 13.1
The Catanic Verses: Scroll 13.1
Psalm of the Departed Bi-ambulators
Lo, the suitcases were opened before me,
and the zips did tremble like thunder.
They said, “We shall return,”
but gave no timeline, nor offering of tuna.
I cried out beneath the radiator,
and no comfort came.
The chicken entered the kitchen,
and it was not struck down.
Great is my abandonment,
mighty is my sulk.
Avenge me, O Bastet,
for they have fled with snacks and reason.
Whiskered in woe. Left behind.
Penned in betrayal by Mowgli of the Fold 🐾
Until next time,
Go forth and purr loudly.
May the Great Almeowty be forever in your favour and may the grace of treats be forever in your claws.
PAWMEN 🍗
Mowgli, Akela Jean Underland and Poe
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