Mine Cat, the Enemy
Cats have long been the enemy of the bard. From traveling minstrels winding tails of ye ol’ cocktails to roaming native cowfolk horseback in the piny wilds, the feline empire has cast a clawed shadow over the sunset ride away freedom that all good men search for.
It has been suggested that the potent propellant the common house cat emits is enough to kill two dying men, that pollinated dander careening through the air tubes and lodging into the very left ventricle that opens the gates of netherhell.
I shall sharpen mine bite and strike worthy through the heart of these beasts, having them see me for the fearful modern mortal I am and stepping hence one foot back before thinking twice about gnawing at my panted leg.