‘Twas a quiet day in the house
And a good day to be a mouse
For as the sly poet tried to come up with crap
The cat on the floor flew onto his lap.
“Hello there kitty,” the poet did shout
As the cat proceeded to let its hair all fall out.
The poet spoke more and stroked it’s blonde fur,
And the cat licked itself and mumbled a purr.
Then the poet’s appointment, confirmed as it was,
Took precedence over the self-licking fuzz.
And so he departed, and the cat in the lap
Lay down in his sheddings for his apathy nap.
