Many, any cats That trod to our abode Lay claim to our door mats Here on Old Dock Road. First was dearest Dolly, A petite pet indeed, Who made an entrance jolly With meows to make hearts bleed. With us she long would stay Within our humble house As a lap-cat by day. By night, she sought a mouse. One January morn, She made a fatal error: She decided to sojourn Upon the street, what terror! Our delightful Dolly, A small yet healthy cat, Became by her folly Even smaller, flat. Next was Archibald, Pompous and Persian-coated; This name he came to be called For the gait with which he gloated. As she whom he succeeded, Archie was to roam Along the lawn as needed And, as wanted, in our home. Misfortune seemed to favor Arrogant Archie too; For, the point I shall not labor, He lost a leg; It’s true! Lingering upon a spot Where one may harm incur: Judicious this is not, Just ask our friends with fur. The feline tide then shifted, None made visitation. Erelong Darla was gifted, Much to our elation. Disruptive, dim, disturbed, All terms to Darla suited; By her we are perturbed, This cannot be disputed. Fate has been much kinder To this third of the lot Who, unlike those behind her, Is kept within our plot. Lastly, hitherto, Walter made a waltz. Gluttony and cares too-few Are his only glaring faults. A savvy, flabby tabby With a woe-waning purr; Describe Walt not as shabby, For I will not concur. He and she preceding With my family still reside; They their nine lives leading, By no rules do they abide. Perhaps more shall be added To this categorical ode As tails of tuft much-matted Twirl to Old Dock Road.
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