I think I despise you, oh detached cat,
Who ignores me, though I do try to please,
I tempt you with toys that you may then bat
But you find more joy in the passing breeze.
I fill your bowl every day with delights,
And yet you would much rather eat a mouse.
Your nights are all filled with conquests and fights
While I sit alone in this cold, dark house.
How often it is my hand you do scorn,
And stately retreat to the cabinet�s top.
Yet, I must say, I am hard pressed to mourn
When your caterwauling still will not stop.
But when you do purr and sit in my lap
I love you, dear cat, there�s no doubt about that.
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