bags, paper, and boxes
made into little shreds
all over the house,
whines when I walk in the door.
crunches of hard food,
as you munch with pointy teeth,
little belled-balls jingle
while I try to sleep.
running into the living room and back,
you leap into whacko mode and bounce attack,
following us each room we move to,
you meow, concerned with what we do?
I think, you think
it is us who entertain you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem