Andrew Larach
In a realm of hops and golden grain,
There dwelled a feline, Tipsy Jameson by name.
With whiskers poised and a curious gaze,
He sought the essence of breweries, a feline's craze.
Amidst barrels of barley, he'd boldly tread,
Where brewmasters toiled, and ales were bred.
A connoisseur of hops, he'd savor each sip,
A feline sommelier with a paw-flicking grip.
Through amber-lit halls, he'd gracefully roam,
Sniffing malts and yeasts, his senses would comb.
His purrs harmonized with the bubbling brew,
A symphony of flavors, a delight to pursue.
From stouts to IPAs, he had his own taste,
A palate refined, a feline with haste.
With every lap, he'd unravel the mysteries untold,
A cat on a quest, chasing tales yet unfold.
Tipsy Jameson, a feline quite rare,
In breweries he'd wander without a care.
A mascot of merriment, whiskers held high,
As he reveled in the art of brewing, oh my!
So raise a glass to this cat so grand,
The furry explorer of breweries' land.
For Tipsy Jameson, a true aficionado,
Celebrates the joy of hops with each mellow