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Wednesday, August 14, 2013


Come little children and sit by my knee;
I’ll tell you a tale of my tomcats three.
First there is Bandit, my shy Siamee;
Then Muffin, the tiger, all orange and white;
Lastly there’s loverboy, black Starry Night.
When I got three I made one oversight.
If one can’t find mischief, the other two can.
They sail past my fragiles like a catamaran.
They’re making a fuzz-ball of my new divan.
Star chews my hair while he purrs oh so loud,
Bandit does yodeling while pacing around,
And Muffin picks fights with the whole naughty crowd.
Bandit sheds cream on the dark brown stuffed chair.
Star likes the white chair to leave his black hair.
My blazer of blue looks like orange mohair.
Yet sometimes, when Muffin curls up by my knees,
And loverboy purrs without even a please,
And soft murrows come from that loud Siamese,
I know bad things and good things both come in threes.
Written in 1981, about the three cats I had in my first apartment. They were a lot of fun and aggravation.

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