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Miss Muffins, the Corpulent Cat
Miss Muffins is a corpulent cat--
A trait she hasn't really bemoaned.
However, she likes to see herself
Not as obese, but rather…big boned.
Big boned she isn't. Let's be frank.
But BIG she is: twenty-five pounds!
Once she discovered la bonne vie,
She put on weight in leaps and bounds.
The first time guests encounter Miss Muffins,
Their comments might sound picayune,
For they remark in disbelief,
"I didn't know you had a raccoon!"
Miss Muffins, who is highly offended,
Would love to dash from the room in disdain,
But since her poundage limits her movement,
Such an attempt would be in vain.
As long as she can lie by the window
And warm herself with the rays of the sun,
She doesn't have a care in the world
And wonders what could be more fun.
It's been a few years since Miss Muffins
Could jump up onto the bed or couch.
Her last attempt: a complete disaster.
She hit the floor with a thud and an "Ouch!"
Now she merely sits by the sofa
And looks up at her masters and cries,
As if to say, "Help me, please;
You could use the exercise."
There she curls up into a ball
And dreams of manifold savory things--
Things like tuna, goat cheese, sardines,
Chicken gizzards, and turkey wings.
If a mouse enters the room,
She says, "Ah, Mousie, I'm not in the mood.
Go ahead and eat what you like;
Just stay far away from all of my food!"
The only time Miss Muffins will run--
Well, sort of--happens each day when
She hears her masters call "Kitty, Kitty."
She knows its dinnertime again.
After her meal, Miss Muffins finds
A comfy place in the house to rest.
According to her theory, that
Is how one lets her food digest.
When little children come to visit,
Poor Miss Muffins lets out a moan.
"Why," she asks, "do they have to tickle
And prod me? Make them leave me alone!"
The best way to win her affection
Is simply to give her something to eat.
You will become best friends forever
By offering her a tasty treat.
If, however, you give her a taste
Of something she hates, she'll be quite candid.
You will know that you have erred,
For you'll be severely reprimanded.
Every so often, Miss Muffins hears
Something that fills her with great disquiet:
When she's at her doctor's office,
A four-letter word is mentioned: diet.
"Ah, it's time to change the subject,"
Thinks Miss Muffins. "Lovely weather."
To counter unwanted suggestions, she knows
We all have to band together.
"Okay," Miss Muffins now concedes,
"I admit I'm a weight-challenged cat."
She can accept that label, but
Whatever you do, don't call her fat.
-by Bob B (2-18-20)
A trait she hasn't really bemoaned.
However, she likes to see herself
Not as obese, but rather…big boned.
Big boned she isn't. Let's be frank.
But BIG she is: twenty-five pounds!
Once she discovered la bonne vie,
She put on weight in leaps and bounds.
The first time guests encounter Miss Muffins,
Their comments might sound picayune,
For they remark in disbelief,
"I didn't know you had a raccoon!"
Miss Muffins, who is highly offended,
Would love to dash from the room in disdain,
But since her poundage limits her movement,
Such an attempt would be in vain.
As long as she can lie by the window
And warm herself with the rays of the sun,
She doesn't have a care in the world
And wonders what could be more fun.
It's been a few years since Miss Muffins
Could jump up onto the bed or couch.
Her last attempt: a complete disaster.
She hit the floor with a thud and an "Ouch!"
Now she merely sits by the sofa
And looks up at her masters and cries,
As if to say, "Help me, please;
You could use the exercise."
There she curls up into a ball
And dreams of manifold savory things--
Things like tuna, goat cheese, sardines,
Chicken gizzards, and turkey wings.
If a mouse enters the room,
She says, "Ah, Mousie, I'm not in the mood.
Go ahead and eat what you like;
Just stay far away from all of my food!"
The only time Miss Muffins will run--
Well, sort of--happens each day when
She hears her masters call "Kitty, Kitty."
She knows its dinnertime again.
After her meal, Miss Muffins finds
A comfy place in the house to rest.
According to her theory, that
Is how one lets her food digest.
When little children come to visit,
Poor Miss Muffins lets out a moan.
"Why," she asks, "do they have to tickle
And prod me? Make them leave me alone!"
The best way to win her affection
Is simply to give her something to eat.
You will become best friends forever
By offering her a tasty treat.
If, however, you give her a taste
Of something she hates, she'll be quite candid.
You will know that you have erred,
For you'll be severely reprimanded.
Every so often, Miss Muffins hears
Something that fills her with great disquiet:
When she's at her doctor's office,
A four-letter word is mentioned: diet.
"Ah, it's time to change the subject,"
Thinks Miss Muffins. "Lovely weather."
To counter unwanted suggestions, she knows
We all have to band together.
"Okay," Miss Muffins now concedes,
"I admit I'm a weight-challenged cat."
She can accept that label, but
Whatever you do, don't call her fat.
-by Bob B (2-18-20)
