The common or garden cat
is not at all common.

In fact he lives in exotic state,
exceedingly difficult to penetrate.

In his prime
he is at the same time:
Beauty in motion,
Poetry in notion,
When so required the feline can be
sybaritic, egotistic, sycophantic, neurotic,
sometimes manic‑depressive,
and all stations in between.

So he may live
a multitude of modes,
and I compose
to him, this Ode.