Jonathan Livingston Cat

wanted to fly.
But not for the usual reasons.
Jonathan Livingston Cat
didn't even like birds.

Jonathan Livingston Cat
wanted to fly,
to feel the wind rippling through his fur
the tips of his ears gently pressed back,
and his tail tippity tippity tippity
in the breeze.

All the other cats
thought that Jonathan Livingston Cat
was loopy.
If God had meant for cats to fly
then She would've made them birds.

All the other cats
told Jonathan Livingston Cat
to accept his limitations,
to accept that the closest he'd ever come to flying
would be a pet carrier in a cargo hold.

But Jonathan Livingston Cat
knew that gravity was just a limitation of the mind,
a shackling of the soul.

So Jonathan Livingston Cat made his way downtown
to the very top of the Trans-Atlantic Building,
38 stories above the street,
where ally cats and city cats and cats fresh off the farm
all waited below to see him splat,
because everyone knows that cats can't fly.
Everyone, that is, except for Jonathan Livingston Cat.

With the wind rippling through his fur,
the tips of his ears gently pressed back
and his tail tippity tippity tippity
in the breeze,
Jonathan Livingston Cat sat sail
straight to the street below,
where he hit with a resounding splat,
because everyone knows that cats can't fly.

But Jonathan Livingston Cat did land on his feet.
But then, everyone knows
that cats always land on their feet.