The cat was small and its fur was white.
It had no home, so it prowled the night.
The teacup was lonely, unused and forgotten,
on a dusty old shelf, with a faded old pattern.
The cat, he would jump, from fence to post,
And the teacup would sit, with no one to toast.
But the two came together in the strangest of ways,
when a boy with no home found a new place to stay.
He crawled through the window, just a young pup,
and found in the house, a dusty old cup.
He took the cup to the fountain in town,
and filled to the brim, with no one around.
He drank his fill, till his stomach was full,
for it’d been a long time since he’d had a bowl.
He returned to that house, as abandoned as he,
and pretended the cup was steaming with tea.
Now the teacup had use and was finally known,
but the cat, don’t forget, was still all alone.
So the cat leapt and prowled, looking to eat,
till one moonlit night, it saw Boy on the street.
The boy dug through trash, tired and starved,
until, there! Tinned tuna, like turkey fresh-carved.
Then Boy turned and saw the little white cat,
tiny, like him — not an inch of fat.
The cat watched intently, and saw the boy’s ribs,
and gave up the fight ‘fore it could begin.
But the boy, being kind, and learning to share,
Opened the tin and called the cat there.
The cat, rather frightened, stepped up to the tin,
and they had their meal like the two were kin.
Then they walked, side-by-side, as good as old friends,
to the teacup and house, and the boy now pretends:
Not one of the three feels lonely today,
Though all had started, alone and as strays.