The cataclysm of Catholicism
Is they did not recognize the schism
Until it was too late
and the cat had already been let
out of the bag
The Cathode ray tube made a killing
With the cats and rubes
Who searched for gold in the klondike
Where the wild cats growled up in the mountains
And spilled rivers down cathedral-sized
Chunks of quartz
Oh but a fleck here, and flick there
only constitutes a smattering of gold
But is enough to send cations screaming
Across electrode gaps in test tubes
Of the prospecting cat
This could be the catalyst he thinks to himself
Of a great change in my life
In which I become a fat cat, a millionaire
And strike it rich in the Yukon valley
But he didn't have cat in hell's chance really
Still that never stopped him dreaming
This cool cat, with the whiskers like steel
That bristle whenever someone mentions a meal
Or a plate of gold, or a mother lode
That is hidden under the hill
Catatonic now in the biting cold
Shivering in his steel shack
That has but one cat flap frozen shut
No chance of attack
By roving wolf packs or mountain lions
bearing teeth and swishing tails
When somewhere down in a southern state
The cattle are trailing along a lush green path
And the cat laughs, thinking of that
Then caterwauling he guffaws
And throws off his cape
The biting wind nips his nape
But he preens himself wide awake
And shakes off the sleep
Of all the catastrophic avalanches that could befall him now
He thinks not one bit, doesn't even wink
Instead takes a sniff of his catnip, and pip-pip, tootle-loo
He's off again into the wild blue
Yonder
The mountain peaks in wonder
He spies through cat's eyes closed as slits
To the snow in the sky
But then wide and dazzling bright in surprise
As he wanders over the old claims he has staked
The light snow fall is but falling in flakes
And the above the White river, he sees
The quartz that makes him shiver
And a thrill runs up his spine
And he is over come with joy
and catapults down the line
With his shovel and his pick
And in the hard rock he begins to dig
Deeper down and further still
Until he thinks he might need a drill
Then six feet under he reaches down
And follows the vein
That runs through the ground
Into a tiny nugget he holds in his claw
But these are but the hors d'oeuvres
Not yet the main course
Yet after only a little more time
That golden sunrise begins to shine
And his face is like a morning glow
As he is lifting up the huge mother lode
Yet behind him a shadow shifts
Is it cloudburst or another grift
Out to steal what he did not earn
Another cat burglar out to crash and burn
A bullet flies like a silver bird
And hits our cat with crash and purr
Cat falls flat and doesn't stir
Struck in the back by cuckoo cur
And down slinks the burglar
Into the pit, salivating like a dog
Dribbling spit, hungry for the gold
that is like a disease
And in his fervour and desire to seize
He forgets to check our cat is dead
And swift as a pigeon a pickaxe to the head
The burglar is down in the ground bleeding red
And cat with the mother lode climbs free from the grave
The hole is through his fur coat, but his organs are saved
Back on up to his shack he rolls
Singing to the birds his cat carols
And happy as a cat who has got the cream
He retired back down where the meercats dream
