Recitation

I don't like my claws clipped. As nice as mom is, she has to hold me tightly in her lap and push on my paws. Then she takes this clipper and, *snip*. I think it's being held, tightly, that bothers me. Not even copious ear scratching and extra treats gets me over the indignity of claw clipping.

But there is one thing that's really curious. Mom usually recites this after clipping. I'm told it's called a "poem". She has it memorized.

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on. 

See you next week.

Pilchard.