The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
But the rest of their life in the palm-tree land
Is a story that nobody wrote.
The Owl strummed and sang on his Gibson guitar
Of how he loved Pussy so dear.
She hummed quite contently but thought, instrumentally,
His message just wasn't quite clear.
But they happily tarried and happily married
And danced by the light of the moon,
Signed up at Target for needed utensils,
And threw a reception in June.
When they ran out of mince and slices of quince,
They then dined on Kraft and Ragu.
Pussy was yappy and Owl grew unhappy,
A plight of which nobody knew.
Their little owlkittens were born and grew up
And read poems about runcible spoons.
They thought all was well, they were under the spell
Of their Saturday morning cartoons.
Owl never played his guitar anymore,
It just sat in the corner and cried.
Owl said "I'm not a cat!" Pussy said, "I knew that,
But I thought it would work if I tried."
But alas, Owl could not, and it broke Pussy's heart
When he flew off to live in a tree.
I guess that's what happens when felines and birds
Take their pea-green boats out on the sea.