There were no mice when you were home
They fled in fear from your stately frame
They never ever ever came
Into your feline kingdom.
Even when we pulled your tail,
You wouldn't bite or scratch or kick.
You liked the door and there you'd stick
Until twas ope'd then in you'd sail.
But then one day your neck grew red,
There was nary a thing to do,
And the sore just grew and grew
So Mom got gun and..BANG! You're dead.
Geez. What kind of a mother would do such a thing? You sound like you need some serious counseling!
ReplyDeleteDead....Not any mother could shoot a marshmallow....5 times.
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