Make Room for Betty

You would think
That by now I’d learn
That in bed
When I toss and turn

Every toss gives
The cat more space
At every turn
She does replace

Where my legs were
Under the covers
With her own bulk
If she had her druthers

One tiny small spot
I’d be given
Betty the cat says
Now that’s livin’!

A queen-sized bed
Lets me stretch way, way out
But my poor human
Does tend to pout

She insists that she get
At least half of the bed
What silly ideas
Cindy gets in her head!

So she actually moves me
And I’m forced to share
And Cindy insists
That this is fair!

All rights reserved

Whimsical Wednesday: Betty’s Soul Mate by Penny

So Penny Hibshman has a new poem in response to our cat Betty.  Thanks Penny!

Betty has a soul mate
Her name is Abigail
Her internal clock
Is never known to fail.

To say that she is portly
Is truly being kind
For if she thought she’d lost a pound
She’d find it close behind.

She has a way of walking
That has to be a fluke
When you’re watching from behind
You’d swear she was “The Duke”.

She’ll waddle to the kitchen
Belly hanging low
When she makes a sudden stop
It wobbles to and fro.

When she thinks she’s getting fed
She gets so stimulated
I’ve never seen a whirling top
so well emulated.

She really does enjoy her food
She fussy on the timing
The fact she isn’t twice as big
Is really quite surprising

Fall back and then spring forward
you’ve heard the little rhyme
to help you with untimely woes
in daylight savings time.

That extra hour is handy
running late and in a crunch
But Abby’s only worry is
the lateness of her lunch.

Published with Permission of the Author
All Further Rights Reserved

Who’s the Boss

When winter comes
I need extra heat
So I put a space heater
At the foot of my feet

Betty the cat
Has figured it out
If I don’t want to share
She will start to pout

She hops on my chair
And makes herself comfy
But soon she decides
That’s still not enuffy

With all her might
She prods and pushes
This chair is too small
For both of our tushes

Tired of fighting
The cat for some space
I get up and move
I do know my place

All Rights Reserved

The Veterinarian Blues

Betty the cat
Can be quite a pill
But despite her strong
Feline will

I like her spunk
I love her lots
Until its time
To get her shots

Then we journey
To the vet
Who tells me he
Has never met

A cat so vicious
Mean and fearsome
Her annual visit
Is truly wearisome

Together we watch
Betty hiss and howl
When that gets old
She has this growl

Betty’s a nice cat
I tell the doctor
And he looks at me
Like I’m off my rocker

Since the cat I adore
He never has seen
The cat in his office
Is always so mean

I don’t understand
What makes her so nuts
But Betty sure tells us
No ifs, ands, or buts

That she does not like
The veterinarian
So she prides herself
On being contrarian

We brace ourselves
And get the job done
But the vet never says
“Gee, that was fun!”

All rights reserved

Cindy Come Home

She does not like it
Betty the cat
When I go away
And she’s babysat

She hisses and fights
And puts up a stink
This cat hates me is what
These poor people think

They feed her and tell her
All kinds of nice stuff
But whatever they do
It is never enough

Betty prefers that I
Stay put at home
I hear she’s a pill
When from home I roam

All Rights Reserved

Betty’s Morning Routine

In the morning when I’m still in bed
Betty the Cat sits down on my head
Thus telling me she wants to be fed

And if I keep sleeping and show little care
Betty the Cat starts licking my hair
In our breakfast time struggles she thinks this is fair

The hair-thing to me seems weird, indeed
But Betty the Cat does have her needs
And so I get up and dish out her feed

All Rights Reserved

Boxing Day

Weirdest Christmas ever
Our Charleston ties we are about to sever
The timing of this is anything but clever

Moving on December twenty-six
A stupider date we could not have pixed
My body and brain will need to be fixed

We’re packing up boxes
With fragiles and sockses
Is this one full of heavy rockes?

What was I thinking?
I swear I had not been drinking
That box over there seems to be clinking

Now the bookshelves are done
That’s one victory won
But packing up the kitchen will not be much fun

Tomorrow we tackle the shed
A chore I truly do dread
And through it all the cat clamors to be fed

Christmas Eve will be the final packing
Arranging thing as we are taping and stacking
The holiday spirit I seem to be lacking

The movers will arrive at nine
I sure hope all will be fine
Moving on Boxing day ought to be a crime

All Rights Reserved

Whimsical Wednesday – Betty Builds a Better Mousetrap

I always knew my cat Betty was whimsical. But a poet, too? She shocked me yesterday when she tapped out this ditty, her very own Ode to Halloween. She hopes it puts fear into the hearts of rodents everywhere…

Betty Builds a Better Mousetrap

Building a better mousetrap?
I’m your gal!
When mice venture near me
I give them hell

This here’s my costume
I love Halloween
When mice venture near me
I make them scream

Mice don’t scream
Is that what you say?
But when mice venture near me
They do rue the day

My vet is having a costume contest
Six-months’ flea care’s the prize
So my people made me this costume
And I tried it on for size

But I do not need
No costume such as this
Cuz’ when mice venture near me
I go hiss, hiss, hiss, hiss

That’s not the worst of it
For those nasty creatures
Cuz’ when mice venture near me
They learn my other features

That’s claws and teeth
And a quick-stepping bounce
When mice venture near me
I promise I’ll pounce!

Used by permission of the cat.
All further rights Reserved

Poetry in Odd Places

What in tarnation!
A second poem about castration?
You might be thinking, “Oh, brother
How, oh how, could there possibly be another?

The poem from April first had a different theme
A medieval love affair was its basic scheme
But this here poem’s inspired by “My Cat From Hell
A TV show I think is really swell

Jackson Galaxy is a cat behaviorist
On neutering your pets he strongly does insist
In last night’s show two episodes explored
This neutering theme, not to be ignored

And the cats were better off, trust Jackson on this
The critters went from misery to happiness and bliss
So you see? Poetry can be found in castration
And aren’t we all glad I’m done with this creation?

Ode to Andy

Over fifty and of big changes I’m thinkin’
It’s enough to drive this old gal to drinkin’

Selling the house and blowing this town
But really, it shouldn’t be getting me down

Hubby and I have a whole new vision
We thought about it lots and reached a decision

The urban life with its downtown delights
No longer seems exactly just right

We talked to the cat, and she agrees too
We’re all ready to try something brand spankin’ new

A move to the country and out to the sticks
We’re already fuddy-duddies, and soon we’ll be hicks

This poem’s title might have you confused
But if Andy were reading, he’d be rather amused.