I cannot claim that you do not shed,
nor can I pretend that you enjoy the brush.
You often wake me demanding to be fed,
and you howl even when I beg you to hush.
More than once you have made me bleed
with undeservèd wounds from sharpened claws,
and when you’ve crossed the fence, you pay no heed
to my pleas to climb back over because
otherwise I must trespass and force
my way through prickly limbs and tangled vines
to reach you there, non-chalant, of course;
any accusations you deny.
But when you snuggle up, though I start sneezing,
your warmth comforts me; I find it pleasing.
T. Allen Culpepper