Guess What?

Place a piece of paper where
My cat can reach it…BAM! She’s there.
It’s not a literary jones
She’s feeding, ‘less her sitting bones
Support a pair (or more) of eyes
Embedded in her hairy thighs,
And anyway, the page may be
Unwritten on; no matter, she
Will find a pressing reason for
Her presence on the paper. Or
She won’t. Remember, she’s a cat.
She’s whimsical. They’re all like that.
(It’s hard to tell ’cause cats don’t smirk;
The Cheshire does, but he’s a jerk.)
The bottom line is, if her bottom’s
Leaving lines, the paper’s got ’em.
She’s so pushy with her pooter,
I compose on my computer
Or my phone in self-defense.
(Plus, nothing rhymes with cat-butt prints.)


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