The time has come, today’s the day
I’ve packed my stuff, it’s gone away
This empty house, where once was cheer
Is hollow now, without my gear
As I chill with Brownie and Linc
I think of friends, and raise my drink
To Sweetie Pea, I love you most
The sun sets on the Central Coast
There once was a black dog named Raven
To greet you her tail would be wavin’
She had one good trick
But then she got sick
No longer she’ll be misbehavin’
Black pussies should not be hated
They should be appreciated
Stroke them, pet them, fondle and touch
Tickle them with feathers and such
Give them a smooch or soft caress
It’s your job to diminish stress
Become a pussy sorcerer
Do what it takes to make them purr
The dogs are fed, the cat is too
Now it’s my turn to have a chew
But Jean is gone, I’m on my own
My stomach growls, I start to moan
I look around for food to nuke
The leftovers all look like puke
So I decide to cook from scratch
I gather wood, and strike a match
I fill a pot, and start to boil
I grease the pan with olive oil
I marinate the meat in sauce
I chiffonade like I’m a boss
I bake spring rolls as an hors d’oeuvre
Then right before I start to serve
My eyes open, I’m on the floor
My head had banged the freezer door
My night as chef was just a dream
I settle for melted ice cream
I did not think I’d ever see
A heart shaped clump made by cat pee
Linc must have tried with all his might
To leave this gift for us last night
He found a way to show his love
It’s super sweet, at least kind of
I’d rather he purr on my knee
Than shower us with gifts of pee
Wiggle my fingers; run, run run
Playing with Linc is fun, fun, fun
Jumps on my belly; knead, knead, knead
His claws are sharp; I bleed, bleed, bleed
Runs up the stairs, so quick, quick, quick
He knocks things over; dick, dick, dick
Throughout the house his fur, fur, fur
When it’s time for bed, purr, purr, purr
Jean is away – she’s gone for work
I stumble ’round like a big jerk
The dogs are dead, cat ran away
She has been gone for one whole day
We’re out of food and no clean clothes
I showered with the garden hose
The house burned down at half past noon
I really hope she comes back soon
We could not find our little cat
We did not know where he was at
We checked outside, he was not there
He wasn’t in his favorite chair
We searched upstairs and then searched down
He could be anywhere in town
We called his name, “Where are you Linc?”
We found him in our bathroom sink
I am a pope, and Jean’s a nun
Brownie’s a cop without a gun
Raven’s a freaking astronaut
Linc isn’t cool with what he’s got
We may not have scary costumes
But as the kids ride witches brooms
To our front door to get their treat
Our neighbors must accept defeat
We have the best house on the block
And Charlie Brown still got a rock
Chasing cats isn’t fun
Run Linc Run
I might burn in this sun
Run Sean Run
He won’t stop till he’s done
Run Linc Run
I catch him, so I’ve won
Run Sean Run
Sitting next to the fire
In my bedroom attire
On the longest night of the year
With my two dogs and my cat
I’m extremely thankful that
All the nights are shorter from here
Raven is a bumble bee
Her tail stings so viciously
Brownie is a dinosaur
His mouth is hard to ignore
Linc does not have a costume
Dressing him would spell our doom
I was clean, but now I’m not
Brownie sneezed, and out came snot
Raven covered me with fur
Linc just likes to knead and purr
While he drenches me with drool
Having pets makes me a fool
140415
There’s a dog and a fish and a cat in my hat
There’s a doggy on her bed
Sitting with her empty head
There’s a kitty on a box
Filled with underwears and socks
There’s a fishy in his bowl
Glad he’s not a sushi roll
Now it’s time to feed out pets
Beats a visit to the vets
They’re still fun though hardly new
Raven, Linc and Ziggy too
On my desk, there lays a cat
But he does not lay real flat
So he’s not a good place mat
It is hard to make him scat
Seldom does he want to chat
Yet he always wants a pat
If you don’t, he is a brat
He’s still cute, imagine that
You never saw a cat with wings,
I’ll bet a dollar — well, I did;
‘Twas one of those fantastic things
One runs across in old Madrid.
A walloping big tom it was,
(Maybe of the Angora line),
With silken ears and velvet paws,
And silver hair, superbly fine.
It sprawled upon a crimson mat,
Yet though crowds came to gaze on it,
It was a supercilious cat,
And didn’t seem to mind a bit.
It looked at us with dim disdain,
And indolently seemed to sigh:
“There’s not another cat in Spain
One half so marvelous as I.”
Its owner gently stroked its head,
And tickled it with fingers light.
“Ah no, it cannot fly,” he said;
“But see – it has the wings all right.”
Then tenderly from off its back
He raised, despite its feline fears,
Appendages that seemed to lack
Vitality – like rabbit’s ears.
And then the vision that I had
Of Tabbie soaring through the night,
Quick vanished, and I felt so sad
For that poor pussy’s piteous plight.
For though frustration has it stings,
Its mockeries in Hope’s despite,
The hell of hells is to have wings
Yet be denied the bliss of flight.
Another bird is dead
The sparrow had no head
Looks like Linc may have fed
Wings broken; feathers shred
The crime scene stained in red
The poor thing really bled
I wonder if it pled
Or attacked back instead
The room is filled with dread
While Linc sleeps in his bed