Reigning Cats

If i was a cat, and i was the king

i'd have to change a few little things -

i'd start by pulling the sky down lower

pull the moon in close for the weaker or slower,

i'd get rid of music, and abolish art

i'd play in my theatre of only one part,

and i'd delight in taming the human race,

then wiping them out like a stain, without trace

but before i did i'd ask their greats

how they managed so long to determine the fates

of those they thought weaker, inferior souls,

the ones that they shot at or fed dross in bowls,

and i'd use that knowledge in my evil plan,

where god would be feline and the new devil, man

then i'll sit back and relax, then become paranoid:

"will the next threat be dogs or an asteroid?"

and i'd slowly cripple myself with power,

crawl about obsessed in my ivory tower

and munch on songbirds, fresh and crazy

get livid and placid and bent and then lazy,

and slowly implode, whilst exploding as well

and reflect on my formerly Utopian hell

and in fact when i think of it, here in my basket,

i'm pleased that my owner, though nearing the casket,

is kind and serene, gives regular meals

so i've no need to beg or to borrow or steal,

and it's nice and warm here in my basket with fire,

that i'll rest my hungry visions, hang my claws up, retire,

i'll take up the artform my bruvas call rap,

but in the shorter term still, i'm heading straight for a nap.