From the author: This poem was written in a workshop on parodying Shakespeare. The cat in question is still, seven years later, just as terrible.
My kitten's eyes are nothing like the sun,
although her gaze burns hot with malcontent
unless her lunch is served on time at one
with crunchy biscuits as a supplement.
If thwarted, tail lashed from side to side
expresses words a kitten cannot speak.
She rubs against my face when satisfied,
anointing me with fishy breath that reeks.
I love to hear her purr, yet well I know
how loud it sounds beside my head at night.
She doesn't understand how people go
to sleep, instead of cuddle, play, or fight.
And yet, when she is calm and curled in bed,
I never wish I'd got a dog instead.
This story originally appeared in Every Day Poets.