Horrible poem


I had a cat which never scratched or bit
Her manners were perfection , I can say
But on the stairs she lay and fell asleep
So tripped me up when I had got a tray

She always knew when I had a new dress
For she would leap down from the window sill
And she would try to milk the fabric pure
Till I had threads and holes where she had pulled.

She used her scratching post when we were home
Yet when we went away, she disobeyed
For we found scratches on the sofa arms
Where she had exercised the right to play

Yet when she died we missed her very much
So now she’s sitting on the sofa, stuffed

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