“They ask me to write about a trio
And really odd they are:
A cat, a bowl of soup, a beach towel to try, oh!
But lemme tell you the cat’s war.
A Devon Rex kitten it was,
Ginger was his name, very intelligent too,
Smelt something spicy in the hands of his boss,
Soft-belly’s grumbles, louder it grew.
The master got a call,
So he left the bowl on table top,
Out of Ginger’s reach as his paw was small.
Little did he know, it could topple and drop.
But unceasingly he jumped,
Learnt the strategy to double jump higher,
Soon he landed on top and bumped,
The bowl fell with a crash lower.
Stumped as to its sudden jolt,
Ginger leaped down to lick the spilled soup,
Got his fur messed up in soup-revolt,
Never bothered to hear people troop.
“Oh!” his boss exclaimed,
“Dear dear, look how messier you got into!”
Picking Ginger who was unashamed,
Ran to give him a rough wash despite his mew.
And near the window he sat,
Wrapped in a beach towel alright!
This is the story of the cat,
Which had a fright, a bowl of soup to lick? Oh, he might!”