mmmcclxxxix

The Sacred Act,

its name abuzz
with intrigue,
mystery, with a

hollow ring that
is altogether too
vague, but good

people, what I
say to you shall
be naught but

honest and fair,
so I shall reveal
to you that our

Sacred Act’s a
good friend of mine
and flat-out a cat,

that’s right my
pals, ol’ S.A.
is native Felinian,

and the most
revered subject
of this here bad

business we’re
havin’ today, so
what do we know

so far, my friends,
it’s that facts are
facts just as

cats were once
kittens but the
tale to be told

here today my
good folks is of
Sacred Act, who’s

(sigh), as has once
or twice been iterated,
and I’ll say it again for

you, no scaredy cat.
And so as for the
air de mystère,

mes amies, Sacred
Act, iel very much
likes it like that. So,

no scaredy our be-
loved Sacred, how-
ever, always a bit

on the clumsy side,
it took a big spill
with its most

precious bottle
today I should say
at around about

half past that in
the morn, but,
alas, all was well,

or at least right
thereafter for once
the dear cat

had but picked its
poor self right
up, and shook

its tail just a bit
and another bit, a
cat with a modest

amount of tail-
wagging, that’s

our Sacred, yep,

that’s our cat, well,
a nap was in order
and never one to miss

out on a nap,
Sacred was down
for the count at one

heckuva slumber
’til at least, I would
venture, a quarter

past half, at any rate,
yes, it was thereabouts
when its nose awoke

first as, what to be-
hold, right next
to its bed:

but a heap
of its favorite,
lamb-kin shawarma

(I call S.A. “Fraidy”
it gets its goat good,
what fun we have

sailin’ through
days like this!),
so Fraidy’s a bit

bungled up from its
tumble but its tum-
my is so over-filled

with yum-yummy it
doesn’t feel a single
ding, ’cuz oh how del-

icious the feast
of shawarma.
Sacred Act’s all

a’purr at digestin’,
while stretched
in repose like the

idyllic cat’s pajamas.
Folks, but once that
lamby meal’s fate

was sealed (no
burps on the lurch
as this cat’s got

some manners!),
even ’afore it’d
gulped and then

swallowed its
ever delightful
and ultimate

mouthful (there
weren’t a bird
injured at this

most lyrical
patty-caking,
word!), and much

to the anxious
kitty’s chagrin
(which upon

some reflection
was so stretched
and so vivid

I might just
suggest that
its marvel

was nothing
less than
Cheshire-esque)

our Sacred Act
abruptly conveys
with his crazy-

exaggerated
teeth full of
face he’s been

caught unawares
and yet all too aware
that around him and

speeding from every
direction with each and all
aimed most directly at

Fraidy, yep, more than
most horridly, scarily
(verily!) and if

you were to ask me,
at a mortifyingly swift
pace, there comes an

inordinate amount,
yep, a whole buncha

down-right demented,

despicable souls, I mean
really bad really mean
up-to-no-good-niks,

the faces of some as
they kept getting nearer
clearly were faces our

cat found familiar and,
oh, could I see on its
face that poor Sacred

blinkingly wished upon
wish that the faces
a’plenty all coming,

all aiming at him, weren’t
but quite so familiar
as they were becoming.

But be a’comin’ they were

and from every angle,
and each one at speeds

that, mes amies, just
imagine! A person like
me would most likely

concede were charging
impossibly well past
full-throttle! ’Til,

holy tarnation!
Kaboom!! went the room!!
And between you

and me I could
see on the face
of my poor and

all-too-swiftly
departing com-
panion what

must have been
(is it some con-
solation, I do

think it so!) his
last thought and for
that let me rewind

away from the chaos
that causes our
hearts to so caustic’ly

bleed. Well, before all
the monsters arrived at
the scene just to tackle

and maim, our dearly
departed was, now
do please bear with

me, content, and
not just from
shawarma, as,

listen to me, ol’
Fraidy, his angular
ears all a’perk, was

attempting at first
to discern what
sweet music it

turns out the
both of us at once
did hear. I saw our dear

Fraidy half-tilt his
fuzzy mug, twist one
of its ears

towards over there, you
can just see the circle
at times it’s piped

in through; its
usual tunes, such
fare I’d not even

call music,
so generally
hum-drum and dull,

as it were, and
of course for
good reason

in places of
particular repute
such as this one,

that Sacred did
manage to turn into
such an upstanding

and even occasionally
cheery makeshift
home sweet home,

but I think I can
say, and in truth
quite sincerely

all but inconclusively
that Sacred’s last
thoughts were on

that oddball yet
somehow earnest,
succinct little ditty

that is called
“Massachusetts”
and, wow, is it sung,

by none other than
the good, sweet,
hirsute brothers

whose surname is
Gibb! Now, what a fine
song that’ll bulldoze

right through ya, and
then clean the cobwebs
right out of your skull!

That’s the tune
that was playin’,
I swear to you,

neighbors, and I saw
for sure how it
transformed our

cat, how its grey murky
eyes came to silver
with focus, I

tell you, that
one clear
moment of

brute recognition,
of spark, hit his
eyes before things

got all bundled,
and Fraidy, our
Sacred, beloved,

dead friend, but
Fraidy (oh, Fraidy!)
by then it was

doom, because it was
at the next moment
our dear Sacred Act

did kick at that bucket,
and just right at that,
so with naught but the

velvety song-breath
of sweet, sweet
disco a’swirl

in its head, our
Fraidy, he died, yes,
our cat met its end.