This is the hamster who lives in my room,
who adds to the air her rodential perfume.
This is the Biscuit, my small doggie friend
who is staying with me until the summer’s end,
who is friends with the hamster which lives in my room,
who adds to the air that rodentious perfume.
This is the outsider; this is The Cat
who hopped on our porch for a post-midnight chat,
whose attempts at procuring our affections fell flat,
who took one look at Biscuit, then clawed, hissed, and spat.
This is The Cat with a very strong will
who invited herself into my windowsill.
That morning, the toilet just wouldn’t stop running,
and The Cat could be found on our patio, sunning.
(As I haven't actually photographed our toilet, please use your imagination here and pardon the abrupt break in rhythm.)
This is the toilet that decided to die
just ten minutes after our landlords stopped by.
This is the Caitlin who called them to try
to explain things in Spanish while I stood idly by.
While the landlord stood over our old toilet tank,
The Cat declared turf war and tried to pull rank.
Yes, this is the Caitlin who doused the foul cat
which was growling at Biscuit and swiping at Pat.
Oh, the landlord, he mended our toilet right up
as sweet Biscuit just sat there, oblivious pup--
Caitlin drenching her old feline foe with a cup.
The Cat scowled away with flashing cat eyes
as Caitlin, in English, did apologize.
But The Cat's not bilingual, or so I surmise,
as she still has returned to our front door, her prize.
So it's possible I should start charging a fee,
for those knocking on door 34 will soon see
an amiable landlord who makes return trips,
a toilet running water enough to sail ships,
a Caitlin who translates and dumps water on
the spurned Cat who prowls and hisses and fawns,
who hates little Biscuit, my small doggie friend,
who'll stay in my bedroom until summer’s end,
who’s there with a hamster all fuzzy and small--
and maniacal Shar, trying to manage it all.