My owner brushed my fur,
It was full of tats.
They jerk and pull and pain incur,
Having woven into mats.
I don't much like grooming,
My owner has no sense of style,
He gives me a centre parting,
All along my profile.
My friends laugh and joke,
They ask if I'm going to Crufts.
Now I need to wear a cloak,
To hide my terrible tufts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem