Of cats and things …

Who knows the questions of a cat, of what it thinks of moons and Junes at supper time and where the hell you’re at.
Why it looks so disgusted while sitting patiently, all knowing fur ball, much more clever than me.
I must toil, scrimp and save while kitty waits by the door for master, her slave.
Loyal only if fed and pampered to the last straw but stumble once and she gives you a claw.
And if you forget her for even one meal it’s most likely it’s off to another master she’ll steal.

Miss T