June 2012
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An Ode to the Fat Cat
How doth thy little bumblbee
Fly neath thy largish rump
That waggles fro thee bushes;
O pity the bent Futershrump!
As it wobbles past those starring,
And Jasper on the ledge,
One might warn thee small buggies ‘cuz if she leans, “splat” their dead…
She goes for breakfast numnums, bounding down the hall,
She then scampers in for lunchy,...
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