Monday, January 5, 2009


I once knew a cat
named Panga Bat

Who sat all day by the window.

But when night came,
Panga Bat was not tame,

and went howling and prowling the borough.

At dawn he'd come in
wearing a grin

and sit by the window and ponder.

Then again night fall,
and the cats would call,

Panga Bat would go out to wander.

One moonlit night
he got into a fight,

his bat-like ears torn to a tatter.

He looked so forlorn,
the felines did mourn,

but assured him it did not matter.

"Your fine physique
is quite unique."

They did meow and purr to amuse.

But before long,
t'was a quarrelsome song,

with growls and spats of abuse.

Too much fun
for this one,

ruffled bat brown fur in a whirling.

At dawn he came in
wearing a grin,

tattered ears quite the evidence of quarreling.

Panga Bat didn't play.
He lay there all day.

He soaked up the sun by the window.

But once night came,
Panga Bat was not tame,

And went howling and prowling the borough.

Linda McGeary
(c) 10.18.93

(This Panga only lived in my imagination. A cholate brown, long and lanky, scrapy cat. Most opposit of his name sake, our own Duchess, who is a calico of much substance, and not at all scrapy.)

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