by: Wes Robert Ward
What common language is that
for a small little pussycat,
you sit there looking at me
as if I'm an overgrown tree,
when suddenly you meow,
wanting milk from the Cow,
wanting tuna from the can,
wanting everything I am.
And if you don't get what you fancy,
you get a little bit antsy,
plus you start to hiss and fuss
here, there, and everywhere.
But if you get what you desire,
you won't look at me like a kitty cat vampire
and set my house on fire.
You will sweetly purr,
wanting me to pet your fur,
loving me, adoring me,
for five minutes or so,
and then it's back to
with a mean meow moan,
"Just leave me alone."
Then one dark night as I lay in bed
feeling more sleepless than the dead.
I see through the black darkness,
the dark blackness within my room
something scary through the gloom
of the shining moon…
with a groaning sigh
I see your eerie glowing cat eyes
watching me from my dresser
making me feel lesser
than what I am
or ever was.
And because you watch me all night long
from dust to evening to the dawn
like some kind of stone gargoyle,
I simply fear if I slumber off
you will come to me so soft
climb and sit on my breathing chest
like some kind of pussycat pest,
and hack up a hairball in my mouth
as I snore away within my house.
Evil you are, my purring pussycat,
much more evil than the Cat in the Hat,
but I must love you no matter what
because next time instead from the gut,
it might come from the butt.
The End. 🐈