- Mar 6, 2018
Emma is alternating between being a love in bed, to being a feet hunter, and sprinting down and up the stairs to repeat the process!
It's one-thirty-seven, and Bob's in his bed,
While visions of catnip mice dance in his head;
Peanut and Scottiecat, little Puff too,
Asleep on the bed in the guest room that's blue.
Sweet little Lance is curled up on the pillow,
On the bed of the guest room that's painted in yellow.
Oz is sprawled out on the desk over there,
And White Tip's asleep in her favourite chair.
Clawed-Ya, Black Friday, and Miró all sleep
On the drawing room sofa that's cushioned so deep.
You'd think sleeping cats, not a sound would they make,
Well, ten of them don't - but the Snowshoe's awake!
She runs through the house with that Snowshoe tail twitchin' -
You'd swear there were elephants down in the kitchen;
She leaps at a shadow, that stupid Siamese,
And screams in a voice that would frighten Banshees.
She careens through the house like a Nazgul in heat
Until she encounters, with little white feet
That big water bowl in the hallway below -
You thought Esther Williams put on a great show?
That's nothing compared to a Snowshoe that's drenched!
The sounds which ensue are like dæmons who've wrenched
The Soul from some sinner who's dragged down to Hell,
(The only thing missing's that sulfurous smell).
Then suddenly everything's quiet as tombs -
But I know that she's down there, in one of the rooms,
Concocting some scheme that might kill me of fright,
But for now, all is quiet - to all, a goodnight.
Yes Yoga! Post it here!Ummmm..... Whatever this is....View attachment 230474