Furball A Spuddy Cat Tale

Scratching, fighting, biting.
Hands raw with needlepoint marks,
hands roar with- stop you're hurting me,
but relentless, he just keeps at it.

Ball of fur, you're just a ball of fur,
another tickle annoys him.

Fighting, the hard case of the flat,
cock of this floor easily,
he strolls around,
picking on the plants,
making sure they don't overgrow their spot.

Books used as stepping stones never complain,
the last time they were knocked to the floor
with a back-kick.

Scratching, the wallpaper takes him on,
loses every time but has a go anyway.
Strips of soldiers go a.w.o.l.
No full platoon anymore,
but manages the best it can.

Biting, new trainers are not so new anymore,
he took a bite then swallowed whole,
the laces were spat out, along with a fur ball.

All is as it should be,
so it's time to chase those dreams.