Putin’s fluffy cat (a poem)

Whatever could have happened, to Putin’s fluffy cat?
You know the kind, that in a Bond film villain’s lap is sat
That’s white and slightly sinister, which you’d imagine that
If re-embodied human, would wear a posh cravat.

Did it find while lolling there, hand running through its fur
That with the plans of Vladimir, it could no way concur
Did it feel, on white cats everywhere they’d be a slur
Which could some consequences, far from cat-friendly, incur?

In its ice-cool moggy heart, and in its brain feline
Did it sense this Kremlin kid was badly out of line
For a nicer Bond-ish villain did our friend now pine
In point of fact, did Putin’s fluffy cat just flat resign?