I have a cat called conscience <br />who treats me with disdain <br />I'm just a slave or servant <br />looking after her domain <br />she tells me when to get her food <br />or if she wants some milk <br />and finds the hottest spot she can <br />upon my favourite quilt <br /> <br />All day she sleeps upon her chair <br />till nightime draws her shade <br />then like a tart she trawls the street <br />to ply her favourite trade <br />returning home when morning comes <br />she rushes in the door <br />demanding that I get her food <br />and place it on the floor <br /> <br />Sometimes she sits beside the fire <br />and then just for a laugh <br />she'll lick the salt between my toes <br />when I get out the bath <br />I know that I'm not good enough <br />for such a royal line <br />but then I keep her company <br />and she thinks that's just fine.<br /><br />Charles M. Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-cat-3/
