A Poem: “Machiavelli and Pangur-Ban”

Machiavelli and Pangur-Ban

By Luke Nathan Phillips

=^..^=

Jingles the Cat and I sit fast,

Through the hours, first to last

Practicing our chosen trades

For which we were aptly made

=^..^=

At my desk, stacked high with books,

In her cozy, comfy nooks,

I investigate the world;

Jingles dozes, roundly-curled

=^..^=

I tread the courts of ancient men

Live their trials o’er again

She thinks of woods and squirrels and birds

Whose high shrill voices once she heard

=^..^=

Hist’ry draws my countenance tight-

Human nature lacks respite-

Jingles leaps from slumbering pose,

Begs my gaze with nuzzling nose

=^..^=

MEOW! says she, requesting treats;

I dispense them; these, she eats

And disrupts my sullen mood-

As she’s found hers, I’ve found my food

=^..^=

for which I still endure such strife–

To know the ways of man, of life–

But Jingles knows our ways as well!

To get fed, just meow like Hell!

=^..^=

I survey the art of power–

Jingles WIELDS it, hour by hour

Dominating whole my will

Halts my labor; eats her fill.

=^..^=

How it’s fitting, every night

As I ponder Mankind’s plight

In this quiet habitat,

I’m ruled by Jingles– Best of Cats.

=^..^=