Of cats, there are more than just a few.
They come and go and are born ever anew.
And if they don’t, then someone may sue.
Who would they sue, you just might ask.
Why would they sue, you also ask.
Either way, who would be up to the task?
You ask too many questions, they will say.
Who is they? Not the cats, oh that’s a nay.
But the talking cats you want to keep at bay.
In the noon day sun, they often like to bask.
Never ever do they even wear a sun mask.
But none of those of them should you ask.
And so we go about our days, bright or blue.
Of which is today for you, I have no clue.
But for this bad poem, please pay me my due.