Fried Chicken Blues

Paul had a weakness for fried chicken and it boxed him in. Yep, our resident feral feline, also know as "Chairman Mauw" got carried away. I will explain those puns.
But first, some history. He appeared and took up residence in back of the cafe, where there is a over-night rental. Paul was named "Paul" by JuJu (Judy Jones) when she volunteered to give Paul a home on the plains at her house. Great spot for a semi-social kitty. He would blend in well, looking kinda like a rabbit due to his veryshort, curved tail. He could sneak up on birds better that way. Anyway, the rub was getting him to his unadopted home. Paul had a nasty habit of getting frightened when picked-up. Mike and Jack found that out for us. Gretchen used gloves, but Paul made short schrift of the "grab 'im by the back of the scruff" notion; Paul GETS gloves. For fear of a good clawing, Paul spent quite a bit more time at the cafe than intended. Smart Kitty.
It was the fried chicken that ultimately did him in. I knew the secret to Pauls' soul. I offered my wisdom, my full understanding of the seductive nature of the fried chicken from the local store. I scored samples twice, thanks to my incessant affirmation of the delectable nature of that fried chicken. Thanks, JuJu.
So they got a live trap. I never thought it would work. I had forgotten about the near magical power of the "substance". On a cold, rainy afternoon, Paul was trapped. Paul was also pissed. Cold, wet and stuck in a small trap, no more fishing expeditions underneath Calico Cupboard , no more excursions into the Moore-Clark Rat Reserve. No more fried chicken.
No more No Mike Open Mike.