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sourly rubbing his bum.
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    â€œOkay,” BUGSY puffed, “we’re skipping the bees.
You can nix all the sticks and the grater of cheese.
Instead, I’ve decided to skip to the punch.
Let’s finish her off, get down to the crunch.
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    â€œMs. Katrina Katrell, say goodbye to your life,
because now, as we say, is the time of the knife!”
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    Selena provided her terrible blade.
It flashed like the games in a penny arcade.
She gave it to BUGSY, who grinned like a shark,
whose teeth were agleam in the shadowy dark.
But before he could act on his odious goals,
before he could riddle Katrina with holes,
    he was stopped by a voice that rose from the gloom,
and suddenly rippled all over the room.
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    The voice started whistling a musical tune,
like a wolf, as it croons at the sight of a moon.
While yowling a jingle and clapping a beat,
the whistler was happily tapping his feet.
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    The tapping grew louder, just off to the right,
and then Mortimer Yorgle…
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    tripped into the light.
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    â€œExcuse me,” he coughed. “I got carried away.
It happens sometimes. Hey, what can I say?”
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    BUGSY looked frightened. Or startled, at least,
as he gaped at this creature, this blundering beast.
    â€œHello,” Morty waved. “I don’t mean to intrude.
I hope you’ll excuse me for being so rude.
But I got myself lost,” he said with remorse.
“I don’t know where I am. I’m a little off course.”
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    BUGSY said nothing, he just ogled and stared.
The pigheaded bully was actually scared!
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    His lips began trembling, he started to pout.
He tried saying something , but nothing came out,
nothing except for a meaningless peep,
the teeniest, tiniest, whiniest…
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    The knife in his hand, it fell to the floor,
and BUGSY MCCROOK ran off for the door.
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    His minions, Selena and SICKLY VAN PUKE
(whose nose was now gushing with gobbledygook),
they were equally scared. They ran away, too.
Up the stairwell they scampered—they practically flew!
    So Katrina was left, alone with this thing ,
not knowing what dangers their meeting would bring.
But running away—well, it didn’t seem right,
after Morty had proved himself rather polite.
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    So she put out her hand. It hung there a while.
On her face was a grateful but timorous smile.
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    â€œMy name’s Katrina, and I’d just like to say:
Thank you —for going so out of your way.
Those ruffians sure had me under the knife,
so I owe it to you…for saving my life.”
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    Morty reached out, with the palm of his paw.
They shook, and Katrina was stricken with awe.
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    â€œWho me?” Morty asked. “You got me all wrong.
I was just passing through, just humming a song.”
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    His hand and his fingers were far from the norm.
They were furry
and roughened
and toughened
and warm.
    â€œPleased to meet you,” he said. “I’m Morty, or ‘Mort.’
To be honest, I’m not the adventuring sort.
But they sent me, it seems, on a sort of a quest,
and I’ve got myself lost…and I’m sort of depressed.
And there’s no one to help me!” he said with a sigh,
as he awkwardly straightened the knot of his tie.
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    The tie! thought Katrina. It was perfectly plain!
It was him —the same face she had seen on the train!
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    â€œYou’re the thing that I saw!” She let out a squeal.
“I can hardly believe that you’re actually real!”
Morty looked at Katrina. He furrowed his brow.
“Oh yeah, on the train. I remember you now.”
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    That’s how it began, as simple as that!
Soon they were chatting and chewing the fat.
And Katrina could see, in Mortimer’s eye,
that here was a decent and likable guy.
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    They spoke of their lives, above and below,
recounting their personal stories of woe.
Katrina endeavoured to try and