The Ballad of Shabba and Tinga

Michigan in '91, an Ypsilanti alley,
Four kittens left as orphans wee,
Two were him and two were she,

The boys, one orange, one pure black,
Went to a couple, newlywed,
The sisters went off to a friend,
They both were black, from tail to head,

The tiny sickly furry brothers,
Were oddly named for Reggae singers,
From Kingston town in old Jamaica,
Orange named Shabba, the black one, Tinga,

The next four years with "Mom and Dad",
A modest second-story flat,
Clueless, clawless, never saw a mouse,
They lived inside and that was that,

The couple then did choose to part,
Neither one could take the Boys,
And by some magic, they came to us,
Our house with fearsome, ceiling-fan noise,

The years flew by, them in our care,
Shabba's cuddling, Tinga's songs at night,
Made us smile and warmed our hearts,
So all were happy, and all was right,

"They're fat!", pronounced the vet one day,
A routine visit when they were eight,
I had to admit, they'd become lethargic,
And so vowed, "They will lose some weight!"

In past I'd dabbled making food,
For other cats that shared my life,
This time I studied and I read,
Before I got out board and knife,

The things I read I took to heart,
And thoughts came up, yes, more than twice,
"They need the food of wild beasts,
They need some artificial mice!"

And so I chopped them lean, choice meat,
I mixed in greens and grains and more,
Then froze it into meal-sized cubes,
To thaw and serve fresh on the floor,

At first they didn't like it much,
It lacked the smell of dry or canned,
But two days' fast had them convinced,
To eat the stuff they thought was bland,

And after that, no going back,
They wolfed down cool, faux-rodent fare,
As if it were their own idea,
This frozen "mouse", devoid of hair,

Perhaps three months had passed and they,
Had lost a quarter of their weight,
They'd wrestle and they'd play with toys,
And race the halls with kittens' gait,

The vet said, "My, they slimmed right down!
And, oh, their eyes and fur look fine!
And yet you say they play like boys?
All this, when they are men of nine?"

More years went by, and I taught friends,
To make their cats this magic food,
And all report they had like gains,
New right-sized cats, fine coats, All good!

Still more friends said, "What great results!"
"I should feed this to my cat, too,"
But, buying, cutting, grinding fresh,
Was more than they felt they could do,

One day while lounging in my chair,
In twilight of their thirteenth year,
One on my lap, one on my head,
They cooed and sang into my ear,

"We think that you should make the stuff,
You feed to us, for others, too,
And give so many more a chance,
To live in health as we both do,"

So now, comes frozen in a pouch,
The op-por-tun-i-ty, dear friend,
To buy and serve your cats this food,
So aptly named as Brothers Blend!