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Look into the camera the mighty space man said.
Jon’s Cat was hypnotized, clobbered in the head.
We are taking over, honey, the alien said with a chuckle.
Jon’s Cat was mad. He wanted to give the guy his knuckle.

Take us to your leader the head of the rebels demanded.
Jon’s Cat understood, but he would not do as commanded.
His human was his hero, and he wanted to keep him out of harm.
So he bluffed, and he bamboozled, and he waylaid them with charm.

He finessed, and he fidgeted, and he fiercely fixed them hard and good.
He did what any wise, smart, wonderful, adoring, Kibble-loving cat would.
He led them away from his owner, down the hill to the Alien Catchers Pound.
Next he knew, Space Catchers had netted them. They were on the ground.

He was declared the hero, named Grand Marshall of Thanksgiving Parade.
He took Jon with him. They celebrated with sips of warm pink lemonade.
It’s the sixteenth arrest you’ve made, Jon said. What is your secret, Cy?
Jon’s Cat could not tell him, but he worked undercover for the Cat F.B.I.

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