The little cats come clomping down
The boulevards and streets in town
Their thunderously velvet prancing
Setting shades and stemware dancing
Just the way that fogcats wouldn’t
If they didn’t know they shouldn’t.
Little cat feet might be cuter
If their kitty steps were muter;
When they come to these environs
Mostly what I hear are sirens
Wailing in the fogcats’ wake.
Silent, Sandburg? Big mistake.