A Tough Pussycat
They got the job that summer,
house-sitting in the Siskiyous.
Among the Ponderosa Pines
and squirrels, bushy-tailed,
bright-eyed and Oregonean.
The owner had been hesitant
entrusting all he owned to, what
for lack of better labels, one could call
a bunch of kids, just starting college.
And in the night of their inauguration
they took some firewater out of pewter mugs,
until their courage had surpassed all reason.
They placed the residential Persian pussycat
onto the tray of GE's Microwave, model eleven.
And sat it to the Quick Defrost, on automatic.
Step two it was decided to prescribe
a thorough wash with Omomatic in the Miele.
There was much laughter as she stared from the inside,
a porthole of thick glass and wildly churning seas.
It was a cracker of a dawn for all of them,
when stinking emesis remained inside the house.
Only the cat had packed her bags, made up her face,
well washed and groomed she'd see this strange and crazy world.
She was a tough and quite resilient pussycat.