Monday’s Wandering Thought
He opened a cupboard. Floofs hurried over and peered in. They do this whenever he opens any door. He can hear them talking to one another. “Look! A secret door.”
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know. Wonder where it leads?”
“Maybe we can use it to escape.”
Because they always feel like they must escape this life of comfort.
Of the Floof Kind
He pads through the house though there’s little light,
Making little sound.
Confirming everything is alright,
Unwilling to let his people down.
Then he returns to the beds,
Checking everyone’s heads,
Reassuring himself that they’re fine.
And has a little to eat,
And then, relaxing, goes to sleep,
Doing the work of a floof kind.
Ode to a Floof
A small floof,
Who liked to goof,
Was such a funny one.
She liked her people’s bed,
And being scratched on the head,
But really loved the sun.
Kibble was tasty.
And she never ate hasty,
Nor was other food shunned.
Then it was off to sleep,
Another day to keep,
And dreams about all that she’d done.
Bad weather keeps floofs inside
Where they race around, slide, and glide
Kicking dust up with their paws
Damaging furniture with teeth and claws
Picking up speed, they race and jump
Making us freeze as we hear a distant thump
Leaving us to wonder and shake our heads
Wishing they’d calm down and go to bed