A little while ago I posted some sketches of a cheetah getting fit. I felt there was a poem in him somewhere, but didn't know what. This is it...
Peter the cheetah was flabby and old
And grey was mixed into his fur with the gold.
Rita the cheetah was sassy and young;
When Peter saw Rita he acted unstrung.
He stared in the mirror and started to fret;
He rushed to the gym where he worked up a sweat.
He got onto Twitter and posted a tweet:
"Peter the cheetah thinks Rita is sweet."
Maturer Alita, a cheetah of charm
Was gracious and witty and clever and calm.
She watched from a distance and secretly laughed
To see an old cheetah behaving so daft.
Rita said, "Peter, you've gotta be told.
Stop tweetin'. You're beaten, moth-eaten, and old.
Your tweet is unsuitable. Act more inscrutable.
I'll never want you - the fact is immutable."
Peter went down to the river to lie
In the mud on the bank and wished he could die.
A shadow fell over him. It was Alita's.
He looked up and saw her - a queen among cheetahs.
"Peter," she said with a hint of a purr,
"I love the particular shade of your fur.
If you'd care to address me, don't bother with Twitter -
A hand-written letter is better and fitter."
What happened next? It's easy to guess.
Peter said something - Alita said "yes".
Flaming with passion, their whiskers a-tingle
They went to the altar. Rita's still single.