I think that I shall never see,
A cat that sheds as much as thee.
Your fur that sticks is all around,
On chairs and mats in little mounds.
And even as I sweep the floor,
I turn around you’ve shed some more.
As I scrub and wash the rug,
You just look on and give a shrug.
As I clean out the vacuum hose,
You sit there and lick your toes.
You should give thanks I tolerate that,
Or you would be a crew-cut cat.