In my house of daub and wattle
I like to call my home
I have a water bottle
Which keeps my knees quite warm.
It's black and big and furry
I call it Mister P.
I feed it on Fresh Turkey
It means the world to me.
I used to have a palace
Before my bottle came
Where Lords and Ladies showed their face
And once or twice the Queen.
But thanks to Mister Purry
And his great appetite
My fortune's in the slurry
But he keeps me warm at night.
In my house of daub and wattle
I like to call my home
I stroke my water bottle
And Purry starts to purr!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There! Mr. Purry the Hot Water Bottle is now immortalized as I am sure he agrees he should be [cats not being known for humility]. I had no idea, though, that he ate that much.... perhaps you should take up raising buffalo... maybe a lot of buffalo. Cats and pets may be expensive but how boring life would be without their demands for food, meow, demands to be let out, meow, demands to be let back out, MEOW, demands, for better food, M-E-O-W, and their snuggles and pur-r-r-r-r-r-s. Loved reading this humorous poem about your turkey eater, Tom. Maybe he will star in another cattail.... ;)
I think he may star as the new Buddha considering his great capacity for meditation. I'm working on it but he keeps interrupting me. I think raising Buffalo is a brilliant idea. I'll just knock down a few neighbours' fences to expand my space. I'm sure they won't mind my open range plan!