Those cats I have!
I do not like those cats I have!
They will kill 'em in a box.
They will kill a big ol' fox.
They will kill 'em in a house.
They will kill a little mouse.
They will bring me birds and voles.
They will not kill any moles.
They leave them on the carpet, yes.
They eat the brains and leave a mess.
They bring them in alive and dead.
I do admit, it makes me red.
It makes me gag, it makes me yell.
I want the cats to go to hell.
This morning Sully, that little turd
Brought us one, part-dead bird.
He took it to Miss O's boudoir
He tossed it near, he threw it far.
He was so proud, so proud I say
But even so I took it away.
I swept it up with a broom
And took it out of the room.
It twitched its legs, it moved its beak
And that's when I really freaked.
This day has really traveled south!
I squealed and threw up in my mouth.
I love nature, this I ensure
Critters in my house? No more!
I admire them in the great outdoors
But not their bodies on my floors.
Update: The Mister read this poem out loud to Miss O. When he got to the line where I referred to the cat as a turd, she flipped. It seems that only Miss O is allowed to slander the cat. It is now more than 24 hours after she heard my poem (which she hates) and she is still angry I called Sully a Poop Turd. I wanted to tell her that any being, cat or man, who brings dead or partially dead critters into my Critter-Free Zone, er, House, is a turd. But that wouldn't have helped.