Whiskers Will Remain a Wily Wastrel

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Whiskers will remain a wily wastrel,
Having learned the habits of his heart.
Impulse is for him an inner minstrel,
Singing with the certainty of art.
Kindness cannot cause him to be caring,
Even when exceptionally at ease.
Reveling in love, he finds it wearing;
So saunters off, with no one else to please.