I went out this morning, as I'm accustomed to do,
To give a good breakfast to my trusty young pooch.
He greeted me, jumping and leaping around,
But that's not unusual for one used to the ground.
He leapt and he bounced, seeming to swaddle a little
Gleefully, joyfully, as if he'd just piddled,
But instead of a pool that emerged overnight
I saw something else that made me tremble with fright.
There on the ground, playing possum or dead,
Lay a cat on its belly, but minus its head.
I stared and I shivered and then looked at my hound
Who quivered all over at what I'd just found.
It was either a cat with its head in a can
Or, sprouting a cat, a can with a plan.
I pondered and wondered and thought a bit more
Before choosing the former and rushed through the door.
I picked up a box, a broom and a bag
And rushed out again with a zig and a zag.
In no time at all and with courage to match
I started to net my incredible catch.
But the cat in the can had one more deceit
As soon I found out when it moved its small feet.
It was alive after all, although blind as a bat,
What with the can like an oversized hat
Stuck firmly and snugly as if it belonged
And resisting ideas that the cat had been wronged.
While stupid perhaps - the cat tried to eat
From the can a small bit of the left-over meat -
It was undoubtedly wrong for one of his kind
To find himself stuck in this embarrassing bind.
So, eager to help, and offer relief
And resolute in my unstinted belief
That cats are a species far nobler and pure
Than dogs and canaries, or hamsters, for sure,
I took a firm grip on both the cat and the can
And proceeded to tug from both ends like a man.
In vain my attempts to coax and cajole
The can from the cat or the cat from its hole.
With stubborn resistance unequaled in both
I gave up the struggle with barely an oath
And stood back to look at what would've upset
Even the most hardy, experienced vet.
So, to test out my theory, I decided right then
That the cat in the can would be much safer when
In the hands of a vet I'd had him delivered
And watched if the vet either shivered or quivered.
I then rushed to the gate and opened the locks
And scooping the cat in a can in a box
Boarded my scooter and made ready to dash
Through a minefield of traffic and not have a crash.
The cat, or the can, whichever it was,
For both seemed determined to emerge as the boss,
Sat nonetheless silent all through the trip
In my and the box's imprisoning grip.
I weaved and I woved and I wandered right through
Vehicles of every description and hue
Till the cat in the can in the box and me
Had safely arrived where we wanted to be.
I took in the box, feeling saintly and wise,
And watching the vet's face for signs of surprise,
I opened it up without hesitation
And waited to see his revealing reaction.
He looked and he puzzled and he mumbled Chinese,
Then he said something strange that buckled my knees.
For I was sure in the midst of all that he said,
The word "euthanasia" had entered my head.
After all that we'd been through to get to this stage,
Then to have our hopes dashed like a bird in a cage
Was a blow undeniably-iably hard
And made all my efforts seem fatally marred.
He injected the cat and I saw it relax
As a last gasp of fresh air filled its lung sacks,
Then gently as ever, making sure not to hurt,
The vet eased the can off the cat, now inert.
It's head reappeared, with eyes open wide -
The cat in the can was now cat that had died.
And then, as I watched, the vet wiped its face
And the cat breathed again at so even a pace
That it seemed hardly touched by such an ordeal
As we'd just been through, which seemed so unreal.
It was not "euthanasia", but "anesthesia" he spoke
And that's why the cat had suddenly woke!
"Return in an hour," the vet said to me,
As I smiled back at him, hardly hiding my glee.
But just then a thought I hadn't thought of before
Stopped me dead still in front of the beckoning door -
This was a street cat, just one of a lot,
And I felt it my duty right there on that spot
To stop this poor pussy from adding some more
Cute little kittens to stock up the store
Of stray, homeless creatures, who just might, like him
Have their heads in some cans all meaty, but dim.
So, in an instant deciding, like a penny that falls,
I turned to the vet and said, "Cut off his balls."
"Come back in an hour," he nodded and said
Which I did but this time with much lighter a tread.
The kitty was waiting and gave me a stare
For once where his pride hung, now it was bare.
I guess on the one hand he was grateful to me
But then on the other thought me a son of a B.
But I trust that you'll think me as honest a man
As can tell this strange tale of a cat in a can.

26 October 2003

Dion Marc Delport

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