Poem: Pussolini.
Pussolini.
.
.
My cat is a dictator
In a fitted fur coat.
One with very sharp teeth.
If things are not made to suit
She makes her feelings plain
By ignoring me completely.
How come she rules my life
Assuming a place of prime importance
When I only acquired her on impulse
At the extortionate cost of a tenner.
.
.
