The Cats – Charles, Peter and Tapioca
I am an inanimate object;
My three spoiled cats have told me,
I’m just a thump in a well-traveled route,
Between their water, fresh food, and smelly sandboxes.
They expect me to know their special needs,
They prefer houseplants to dry crunchy kibbles and bits.
But whatever they eat, they cough and they spit
Messy hairballs on my dining room carpet.
At night when I lay in my warm cozy bed
Scampering claws dig into my flesh.
They scream and hiss in purr delight
Then quietly settle wherever they wish.
It seems like so many years ago,
When my daughters selected cute bundles of fur.
They promised us they’d alwys take care,
Now they’ve fledged and left them behind.
Nine lives is a long, long time,
About nineteen years, my vet has advised us.
But still I would protest if someone took them from the nest,
I’d miss my lords and my fur masters.
-Clarence Holm, Servant of the House