Where the fat cats go astray,
In phantom laps of owners now passed away,
On thrown armchairs by smelly dumpsters,
On thrones once used by humans to reign on TV.

Whisker to whisker and fur to fur,
Claw to claw and meow to meow,
With nine lives ahead, when mankind wouldn’t know what to do with one,
With forgotten kittens, and dead-end alleys whose only open end is the one
that counts.

Where fat cats go astray,
Where dogs come by for tea,
Where mice share the cozy corners,
Where leftovers are split,
Where fur balls are spit,
Where the day is theirs,
Where whatever happened; happened,
Where tomorrow always comes,
And the sun never ceases to shine on thrown armchairs.

Where the fat cats go astray,
There’s always room for one more,
To find itself, when others think it’s only going astray.