It's the
curse of the clan
That has
befallen you,
O Pussycat
Afflicted,
As has
befallen others before you
That were
born into this household
Which your
mother,
And the
gang of seven behind,
Have thus
far escaped
By the
skin of their teeth
In general
But which
I wouldn't be too confident about
In time to
come
As all
have fallen victim
To the
curse of the clan,
Every
single one,
One way or
the other.
Not even
your mother,
Who has
led a charmed life thus far,
Can be
lucky forever;
What then
makes you so special
That you
will be the first?
Already I
haven't much hope
In your
recovery;
Such was
the severity,
And
complexity,
Of your
affliction
As well as
my lack of faith
In a God
Who no
longer watches over us
As a
shepherd watches over his flock
But now
uses each one of us
For target
practice,
Myself
included.
