Linnaeus the boxing cat
Linnaeus is the town disgrace,
An angry beast of furried face.
Whenever his muscular form stretches out,
His enemies all turn to rout.
His cheeks are crisscrossed, scarred and burned,
His long missing whiskers never returned.
The rumours of his fallen foes,
Make all-comers fearties to their toes.
Before they enter the boxing ring,
Linnaeus claws out each would be king.
His tiger stripes flash here and there,
His mewling yowl a wrenching scare.
Contenders come to chance their paws,
Cocksure, prancing, like rearing boars.
He sits on cushion in his corner,
Waits for the room to heat to a sauna.
No fight of his was ever fair,
Only fools fare fairly he does declare.
Instead he would scratch and bite and scrap,
Or use his collar as a strap.
He loved the glory, the baying crowd,
The victory cheers, applause so loud.
At night he waltzes into Rita’s Club,
For a sup of milk, a languid rub.
Each eye turns, to glimpse the champ,
The hero fighter, by sodium lamp.
A glance at the fans, he nods with cheerful threat,
To the roulette wheel to spin a casual debt.
Alas, alack, this time his number’s missing,
The kitty on his arm stops kissing.
The good times stop, the bouncers come,
The purse runs dry, no coin, no chip, no crumb.
Through to the back the bruiser goes,
Past tired ladies wrapping catnip rows,
Here an office with walls of screens,
There an exotic dancer leans.
All are corners of the private empire,
Of the Selkirk Rex with coat of fire.
Though petite, she stood with command and status,
Bright gimlet eyes, devil touched, but on hiatus.
“Sit, sit,” she purred, her voice temptatious,
I hear you’re troubled but still pugnacious.”
Linnaeus was held by one enormous lackey,
Entranced by the whiskers of this Bacchae.
Unabashedly in front of him she preened awhile,
Before with teeth shown she drew a smile.
“I have a way to come out even,
Are you aware of Bobcat Steven?”
He held, indeed knew the name,
But the bobcat was old and done with fame,
“How true, he is a shadow of what once was,
But one last fight he will do for me because,
This time he’ll win, a glory long denied,
And against Linnaeus the Great his memory will abide.”
She stopped at that and curled her tail round,
No longer interested in any of his sound,
And fury, how he raged, and raged, and raged,
His pride was there broken, nothing assuaged.
The night came on, oh Linnaeus’ shame,
And there the crowd who loved him roared his name.
Out came old Bobcat in his sea green robe,
Certain of victory, ready to probe.
The fight itself was worthy of myth,
Until, with a whisper stroke he tumbled in the Fifth,
The crowd went quiet, unsure of their own witness,
But down was the champ, on the mat and out of fitness.
A count: a ten, and it was over,
Never more did Linnaeus taste victory’s clover.
The crowd was silent, then with a wave,
Did they acclaim their new hero fave.
He slunk away, forever brooding,
But quickly did rumours start alluding.
It was whispered town, he’d been diving,
How far he’d fallen, thinking only of surviving.
At last retires he to his old suburban house,
A professor’s cat to solve a problem with a mouse.
But those who’d backed him in the ring,
And lost, now doubt on everything.
And so with foes unknown in every eave,
He bides home, afeared of what the mass believe.
GB 2nd Feb 2026
It ended up 4 minutes long. No longer just a short!
