Not straying far from home, as a home you haven’t got,

Each day a lonely battle; survival is hard-fought.

.

Slink about tin-roofed hovels and gaudy tourist traps

Prowling for fatted roaches, hunting for kitchen scraps.

.

Soft though your fur might be, it’s grown patchy and matted,

From your yearning/fearing eyes, clear it’s ne’er been petted.

.

Hunger pulls the skin between your joints; truly, a crime

That none heed your plaintive mews, that none have heart nor time.

.

Do you ask why you were brought, abandoned, left for dead?

A lifetime without cuddles; no bowl of milk, warm bed.

.

In old Kemet or Japan, your plight would draw forth tears,

How long, kitten, till your cries will reach compassionate ears?