Rondo, Poet and Balladeer
Friends I'm back and excited. Spring is sooo close. Tomorrow, they say. Still doesn't feel like it though. Hmmm.
Well, let's change topics then..
You know we love our Grammy to the moon and beyond but what fun is it if we cannot tease her?
EXACTLY! None whatsoever!
Now that Grammy has been feeling better I felt it was time to write a poem about her. But before I do, I should tell you that she is a softy. (Read our bios and past blogs and you'll see.)
Soft in the head no doubt! Soft in the heart for animals, absolutely! And Soft in the body for cuddles, for sure! Yes, that's our Grammy. An old softy. But the poem is not about just that side of Grammy. She is a multi-faceted critter and has a tough side too. Truly, she has.
So here goes...
Grammy slave, the dear ol’ bat
She knits and knits,
Now what’s with that?
We don’t see toys with ‘nip and yarn
But mitts and gloves and hats, not our’n.
She’s good to scoop, She’s good to feed
Our every whim. Our every need
Is met and more
But then she ope’s that dreaded door
And out she brings that fearsome beast
Our toes and floof on which to feast.
It rumbles here, it rumbles there
And all the while it picks up hair
It looks for us as on it roars
But we are far above the floors.
On beds and nests above the din
We hunker down and wait until
That mean old beast has had its fill.
On other days she clears her slate
To chase us down and check our weight.
The girls don’t mind, they are so slight
But Etude and I, it’s a major fight.
The daily agenda, tell you I must
Is nasty. We're fed barely a crust.
She doles out bits, there’s never a slew
Of kibble or plates of turducken stew.
Five times a day she refuses to budge,
As downing her coffee, bacon and fudge,
With nary a thought for our diminishing bumps.
Says that should do you, you weighty lumps.
At night as she sleeps down deep in her cot
Sweetie, the colt, upon her will plop
From cat tree or bureau or from heaven knows where
To chase away beasties imagined - not there.
The other two girls will groom her with ease
Styling her hair, her fingers and knees
Rasping and grating her skin, once so smooth.
For doing this, their psyches it doth soothe.
We boys are such angels, we warm up her bed
We stretch out our girths, a very wide spread
To cozy it up for our Grammy so that
The dear is all snuggly when she comes to her mat.
Then, at ev’ning late as she crawls into bed
She takes the blankets and covers her head;
Says you boys are furry, don’t need this duvet
With nary a thought as we shiver away.
She hides from the girls ‘neath that cozy old sheet
In hopes that those tongues her head doesn’t meet.
For Sweetie she hasn’t a solution as yet
But tolerate she will. She's her darling wee pet.
We love her dearly. The soft, daffy thing,
Gives kisses and such, and even will sing
She cuddles and snuggles when her work is complete
Now shush! Don't tell her! She truly is sweet.
© Whiskers, Mouse, Sweetie, Etude & Rondo - Mischief and Mayhem Central
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