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My Cat is a Brat

My cat is a brat.

I can’t think of anything meaner than that,
But he eats like a hog,
And chases the dog;
Rides on his neck
Like a lion on a zebra, by heck.
He helps with the laundry…
See he sits in the basket and acts as a sentry,
Snagging each sock that he thinks is his own,
And bites on your hand when you’ve got the wrong one.
Then there are sponges.
All over the house.
The ones that he munches,
And carries around like a mouse.
Now my boy has to stand guard over his Legos;
The ones, the flowers, the arrows,
And the black space hat…
The cat especially likes playing with that.
Oh, he also throws his toy dog head
Five feet in the air!
Then lays in ambush
To attack our toes as we stand on a stair.
And there’s no sleeping past the hour of six.
He’ll wake you with one of his tricks
Like the “hit the door high jump”,
Or the “full speed sideways door bump”.
The washroom’s his lair.
If we dally he’ll stick his paw under the door,
And wave it around to be sure that you know he is there.
And you don’t go outside where you can be seen,
Because he’ll cry like you’re mean,
And climb screen doors ‘til you have learned,
That he owns you, and that that is still firm.
Yes he’s a brat!
But we love him in spite of all that.

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