My Kitten Zane
A thinking man might see from watching pets A lesson he will need to learn again: My young gray cat repays the food he gets With lessons on the art of play. Young Zane Will fetch a crumpled wad I toss; it's plain To me that when he hunts that simple toy I throw, he thinks it is the real McCoy. He stalks, he runs, he bats. He wrestles. It's fetched, Presented at my shoe as prey. And yet, No living mouse survives the hunt so wretched. "It's paper, Zane, not food. Besides, it's wet!" Who teaches whom? And though he's just a pet, Those yellow eyes are locked on me: Um, dude? I hunt. You don't. How is it misconstrued?"