As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives.
All the wives had seven sacks,
and in each sack were seven cats.
Every cat had seven kits,
(and every kit had seven lives.)*
Kits, cats, sacks, wives —
how many were going to St. Ives?

That cacophonous mewing sound you hear is all those cats and kits exiting their sacks onto the highway…

Which St. Ives?


*  This line is Lunghu’s editorial addition.  Two feline lives will beheld in escrow until each kit reaches adulthood, in case they decide to re-invent themselves once or twice.



%d bloggers like this: