Out For a Duck (The sad demise of the Duck-Billed-Plaited-Puss)

The Duck-Billed-Plaited-Puss,
he tip-toed down the lane,
he’d left the farm behind
and would not return again.

He had a duck-billed beak,
a body like a cat’s
and his tabby-coloured fur
grew naturally in plaits.

He longed to swim upon the pond
but when he tried he found
the part that was a duck could swim,
the cat half nearly drowned.

He’d had enough of cows and sheep,
all standing ’round and staring,
he knew that he was different
and must do something daring.

He set out, nothing daunted,
to find himself a place
where he could feel at home
among the human race.

About the means of travel,
both selves could not agree,
his cat-self favoured overland,
the duck preferred the sea.

He journeyed on through many lands.
“This is the life for me,
a Duck-Billed-Plaited-Puss
should always travel free.”

He had to be quite careful
of having too much fun
or his fur stood up on end
and his plaits, they came undone.

He pondered on the problem
of his joint mechanics
so, booked a room for two,
in a home for schizophrenics.

He longed for love and friendship
but nowhere could he find
a soul-mate for a love-lorn duck
with a plaited-puss behind.

He wandered lonely through the years,
inexorably linked.
No duck or cat would have him
and the breed is now extinct.

© Marion Sharville

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