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
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Betty’s Lament

Betty the cat’s got
An internal alarm
Which she insists
Is greatly harmed

When we switch the clock
And lose Daylight Savings
Her stomach however
For dinner is craving

A whole hour before
I will let her eat
Resisting her pleas-
It is quite a feat

Forget what the clock says
Betty’s tummy cares not
She meows and meows
Cindy, why have you forgot?

It’s five o’clock somewhere
So feed me my dinner
Lest I become
More upset and way thinner

I’ll waste clear away
If the clock you obey
What must I do
For your resolve to be swayed?

But finally I feed her
What joy, what relief!
For Betty then stops
Meowing her grief

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A Poem About Pizza

Pizza is my
Favorite food
I find it delicious
Very good

But here in the south
I know it’s unkind
A decent pizza
Can be hard to find

And as pizzas go
I am discerning
So to bake my own
I have been learning

The sauce I concocted
Is very tasty
On a pre-made dough
That’s not too pasty

With olives and mushrooms
And some type of meat
My homemade pizza
Is rather a treat!

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Hot Chocolate Repast

When it gets colder
Than I would like it
Hubby makes cocoa
And then he spikes it

Hot milk and chocolate
Would be fine enough
But Hubby adds other
Really good stuff

He throws in a dash
Of cocoa-chili blend
Hope we find more of it
When this jars ends

Remove from the stove
And then the fun starts
We debate with each other
What would most warm our hearts

A pour of Sambuca
Works well, I think
Hubby prefers rum
To be put in his drink

Sipping this stuff
Warms me right up
If not for the calories
I’d drink cup after cup

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Speaking of Quinoa

Quinoa I hear
Is a kind of a grain
Although I keep trying
I find it too plain
Liking the stuff
Is rather a strain

Quinoa I hear
Is a way healthy treat
It’s good for my blood
And likely my feet
Antioxidants galore
Nutrients replete

Quinoa I hear
Can be made into pasta
I’m willing to try it
Since little the costa
But why am I certain
It will be quite a losta?

Quinoa I hear
Can be made into chips
Salted and fried
To add pounds to my hips
But still I won’t like
How it tastes on my lips

Quinoa I hear
Is so good for me
But I’ve tried it and tried it
And now I shall plea
That my diet remain
Healthy quinoa free

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Berry Wary

Roses are red
Black raspberries are, umm, black
This little ditty will prove
That I’m a poetic hack

I like black raspberries
They make me say the word “yum”
But right now they are causing me
A peculiar conundrum

Their bushes are close by
On the outskirts of my yard
So what’s the problem you may ask
That makes picking them so hard?

The berries are beautiful
They’re ripening quite nicely
But here’s the situation
That makes picking them rather dicey

The berries are entwined
Amongst a very dangerous vine
This plant has leaves three
And yes those leaves do shine

Protected by poison ivy
I’ll leave the berries be
Perhaps the birds will eat them
But those berries are safe from me

Roses are red
Black raspberries are, umm, black
And that’s the latest news
From the outskirts of my Vermont shack

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Green With Envy

A dinner party
Last night I did have
Everything went well
But one thing went bad

It’s St. Patrick’s Day
So green carnations I had labeled
For the place of honor
At the center of my table

With green flowers in mind
I went to the store
Imagine my dilemma
When I could not, could not score

The first store was out
And so was the next
When the third place said no
I was truly perplexed

So I settled for white
And into a green vase they went
I could have hunted further
But enough time I had spent

Green ice cream! I said
That would do the trick
Oh yes! Green ice cream
In honor of St. Patrick

With green ice cream in mind
I went to the store
Imagine my thrill
When I thought I had scored

Not one, but two flavors
Pistachio and mint
I would serve green ice cream
And it would be a hit

It was time for dessert
And I promised a big surprise
I got out the ice cream
Not expecting my demise

When I opened the cartons
Neither one was green!
I could not believe it
What I was there seein’

Must be green food coloring
Is no longer legal?
The white ice cream was good
But not nearly so regal

My St. Patty’s dinner party
Was greenless, alas
Seems green flowers and ice cream
Are things of the past

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From Soup to Nuts

First dinner party in our new place
It was nice to have plenty of space

Our other dining room was not nearly so roomy
But with plenty of elbow room, no need to be gloomy

Our broccoli soup is always enjoyed
And so easy to make without getting annoyed

Hubby as usual was in charge of the roast
And me? I made some bruschetta toasts

We forgot about the carrots, but never fear
Lo and behold, we have a microwave here!

Earlier that day I baked brownies for dessert
Adding ice cream and chocolate sauce never does hurt

Last but not least we sipped on some port
And with this morning’s poem you now have my report.

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Chili Unleashed

Hubby made a pot of chili last night
Watching him roast hot peppers is a glorious sight
He did not set fire to anything this time, saving me a fright

I love hubby’s cooking, especially his chili
So hot and spicy, it makes me rather silly
His ingredient list is most definitely NOT willy-nilly

The mad scientist in him comes out in the kitchen
To see what he’ll think of next, I am now a-itchin’
When your hubby likes to cook, there’s no cause for bitchin’

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A four-day weekend sure has been nifty
And since I don’t shop Black Friday
I’ve even been thrifty

The cat likes it when her people are home to stay
I think she gets unhappy
When we are away

We ate lots of turkey and leftovers, too
Despite many long walks
Our stomachs likely grew

Of course all that turkey did make me quite sleepy
I can’t remember when I took naps
Or slept nearly so deeply

No shortage of TV football did my hubby lack
And I read a mystery
From the front to the back

Some time to waste time is indeed swell
Tomorrow is Monday: A thought on which
I care not to dwell

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