For want of better knowledge I sprayed Mortein on a spider,
And the next day t’was found discussing with a friend
If my action was a slaughter akin to keeping cats as pets
And we found ourselves in corners hurling threats.
Her defence was unexpected, saying owners do take care
To ensure their pussies never wander here or there
I countered with some data that I drew from boffin Tim,
Of the antics of the wild puss, oh, so grim.
I quote three hundred and ninety million lives lost every year
And that was just from pussies in the bushman’s lair
One hundred and eighty animals, or half a life each day
Went to felines who were now just seen as stray
Oh that is so unfair to brand him, Clancy always wears his bell
And he never would, never could inflict deathly knell
He has litter in the laundry, and licks himself so clean
And he only eats flavoured kibble, and it’s lean.
I admit that Clancy did go out late one recent night
He was with the lady cat next door, mmm, maybe t’was a fight
But I noticed her tum was bulging and a birthing did arrive
Seven little extras duly roam our local parks and drives.
I have often pondered widely on impregnations due to Clancy
With his active gonads floating boldly, free and fancy
Now those seven new arrivees did they grow and widely plunder
Free to roam to where the townsfolk rarely go.
From Flannery’s research data I now draw and sadly quote it
And I’ve assumed the seven off-spring flourished, and were fit
Seven mouths, seven years, and half a life each day
From Clancy’s just one outing, a total eight thousand lives must pay.