And those footsteps I hear are my warning.
They are finally up, and now I can go inside.
The door opens and in I slide.
They pick me up and stroke my fur forever.
I'm used to it, so it is something I endeavor.
They worship me like I am God.
Because not a thing about me is flawed.
It is almost that time of day,
Where I receive my milk for being a cute Bombay.
The fridge opens and I squeak with joy.
Everyone around me gasps and turns; it is all part of my ploy.
It's the only way they give me a few drips.
And now I frivolously lick my lips.
It's good to be me.
It's time to go climb a tree.
This was really cute, I like how self-centered the cat sounded. Maybe put more detail in the middle of the poem, But overall, it was really good.
ReplyDeleteYou're cat is beautiful and the way you describe it fits the description puuuurfectly ;D
ReplyDeleteThe only complaint I have is that you missed the opportunity to title the poem "The Fursona Poem"