Chemtrails left his Whiskas with a metallic aftertaste;
the output of HAARP set his fur on edge.
Oh, he had heard the 'explanations' of counter-intelligence agents,
the crackle of static and backmasking behind
their every utterance and, yes, what with the flouride
in the water he had once believed them,
curling up by the hearth like a hairy prawn,
docile, obedient.
But lately, he has stiffened like a croquet hoop,
hacking up listening devices:
thick wet balls,
bristling with antennae.
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