I have a cat
His name is tom
I love that cat
He is the bomb
When I sit down on the bench
He sits up next to me
I never can quite love that cat
The way he’s meant to be
His story’s a Greek tragedy
Plucked from the litter too young
He can’t do anything strenuous
He is missing half a lung
I don’t know how he goes on
But he’s brave and fierce and strong
He roams the streets still looking
For some arms where he belongs
When I roamed the churchyard
He’d nag me to come home
We’d congregate the kitchen
And sit upon our thrones
It wasn’t all smooth sailing
Some days we’d hiss and spit
But these were wounded cries
From a love that we both missed
Some occasions he would irk me
When he brought in dead mice
Sometimes I would tick him off
By refusing to roll the dice
But we’d still sit up together
And lick our wounded paws
“I think love might exist,” I’d say
To which he would applaud
I don’t know how I found him
I sure am glad I did
He’s my crutch and mortal friend
The saucepan to my lid
I have a Tom
His name is cat
I love him
He loves me back
Leave a reply