If what I wrote to you of that “Savvy, flabby, tabby cat” Enticed your curiosity, Entrust your ears to me. Before more than an undue span, Or the length of time a pan Takes to heat or tea to brew, The ends will meet – I swear to you! Walter is the name I chose To bestow to whom my woes Were eclipsed by, a furry friar – A knight to whom I would be squire. Fitting as it was at first, A second, surname soon would burst Forth from lips, pursed in awe By what the eyes told them they saw. Needing something sweet with salt, The noble, kneading, lap-cat Walt Launched his lardy, paunchy self Onto the top-most pantry shelf. A clamor came from out the kitchen, I froze thereafter as to listen. What else but a singsong meow Resounded – I can hear it now! I hurried from my room to aid The one by whom a debt was paid To my heart, I owed it much – How a pet can ease grief’s clutch! I found him spread across the floor, Charmed, unharmed, and, what is more, Pawing all the cashews strewn Around by his loud cabinet swoon. With these trifles cast aside, Walter pounced with princely pride Upon a pile of dry fruit – If else but smile, you are a brute! Head and tail trail-mixed, Walt became affixed To treats turned hairy And a word: Cranberry! The end; a short tale, is it not? Now, if I timed it right, the pot You put upon the stove for tea Is ready – Give no thanks to me.
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