Haiku Written by Cats
The food in my bowl is old,
and more to the point
contains no tuna.
There's no dignity
in being sick - which is why
I don't tell you where.
Tiny can, dumped in
a plastic bowl.
Presentation: one star;
Service: none.
Am I in your way?
You seem to have it backwards:
This pillow is taken.
Your mouth is moving;
up and down, emitting noise.
I've lost interest.
My brain: walnut-sized.
Yours: largest among primates.
Yet, who leaves for work?
Cats can't steal the breath
of children. But if my tail's
pulled again, I'm going to learn how.
I don't mind being
teased, any more than you mind
a skin graft or two.
So you call this thing
your "cat carrier." I call
these my "blades of death."
Toy mice, dancing yarn,
meowing sounds. I'm convinced:
You're an idiot.
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