Jack is back, incredibly;
His absence was a mystery.
He flew back from the Orient–
Disappeared, before descent.
Mistress April, in despair,
Searched the halls for her Shorthair;
Wond’ring if her cat had died–
Maybe Airport staff had lied?
Still she traversed Pearson ‘port,
Hoping vainly for report
Of furry feline, was he sick?
What of Jack’s poor brother, Vic?
Neither Girl, nor cat-bro slept
Gone a month, and now it’s Sept.
But all’s not lost, for Saturday
The Airport called with news, to say:
Jack is back, he’s found and safe,
No more he’ll be the wand’ring waif.
He’s shed some pounds and lost a nail;
All in all, unscathed and hale.
One last prison-break he tries
As April to the airport flies –
He leaps to freedom at a height,
Then stows away in ceiling, tight.
Mistress comes for him she sought;
Escapee, Jack once more is caught,
Just in time for handing over–
Purrs ensue; he’s “in the clover”.
Jack, the prodigal’s returned.
There’s a lesson he’s just learned:
When you’re home from the “wormhole”,
Every hour they fill your bowl!
Kathleen Mortensen © 2007