Time For Eight On This Date!

The cat turns 8 today. That makes me close to 50 the vet posters say. The fatter you are the older you are. That's what the poster says anyway at their sand bar.

I should be doing this.

Not giving off a hiss.

Just sitting away.

Staring with no say.

 

Still staring out.

What's that about?

Old age is grand.

All you do is stare at the land.

Find a comfy blanket.

Then just plank it.

Stare some more.

A staring encore.

Turn your head.

Prove you aren't dead.

Look this way and that.

 But don't chew the fat.

Stare wider.

Maybe at a spider.

But don't move anywhere.

Too old at your lair.

Tilt you head a bit.

 Continue the staring shit.

Act like it interests you.

Then find another to view.

Do a fake stare.

Don't go anywhere.

Just stare and sleep.

Old age is so deep.

Remember to stare and drink.

 From bowl or sink.

Drink so you can lay.

There is where you stay.

Act innocent too.

No matter what you do.

That staring is hard on the eyes.

Plus you have to act wise.

Pffft to all of that.

I'll still be a mobile cat.

Doing what I want with ease.

Biting Cassie is a breeze.

The cat won't conform to old age. Is 50 still old at any page? Beats the heck out of me. The cat still runs around with glee. I put the boots to the mutt too at the other zoo. So 8 years have come to pass. Here's to another 8 more for my little rhyming ass.

Enjoy your winter, smash a printer.