she penned a note
in girly curling cursive,
blue on white lined paper,
taped it to his carrier, a cage
one size too small

"he bit me, crapped on my floor,
made thousand anxious scratches
on  my door"

she didn't intend to report his heinous
crimes in rhyme, but she did; they were enough to get him the needle, ministered mercifully, of course

though cursive's now a dying art,
it's sufficient to sign another death
decree--for slaughter, we know,
can be accomplished
with any font