I am Rudy the cat and I live ‘cross the street
with my humans, Don, Tammy and Indigo Pete.
I am one feisty feline who likes to pull pranks,
yet I know of my blessings, and so I give thanks.
I get treats on the counter when I say meow;
I am grateful for this supplement to my chow.
Sometimes I am demanding which makes Tammy sore;
she will tell me quite sternly I’m not getting more.
In the cellar my litter box stays out of sight;
it is sandy and spacious and off-color white.
When my business is done I am thrown for a loop;
I am happy the humans attend with a scoop.
The garage is the exit where I can go out;
There are times when I can’t which compels me to pout.
For the most part I can—in the driveway I’ll sit;
I am happy the door is left open a bit.
In the summer I’ll prowl on my neighborhood tour;
feline instinct takes over as I like to purr.
Though I act like a typical cat, oh so smug,
I give thanks for it all as I roll on the rug.
So I come and I go in the wee hours morn;
I am grateful for scratching posts, although well-worn.
I am pick for these people who I call my own,
and though I stalk in solitude, I'm not alone
‘cause I’ll sashay inside as if I own the place,
and I’ll paw my dear Tammy all over her face.
Never mind it is four AM long before sun;
I am merely a cat in the realm of cat fun.
As the humans are roused from their nocturnal daze,
with my tail in the air I will offer them praise.
It is sent via purring preceding the dawn;
it’s too bad they can’t gather the wavelength I’m on.
I have food, I have toys, I have shelter all right;
I give thanks when I bring in a chipmunk at night.
But Don doesn’t appreciate this sort of thing
when I give him that look as if I were the king.
Still my thanks is forthcoming whatever I do;
I’ll curl up on the futon and sleep the day through.
Yes, my thankfulness stays as sincere as the sun
for I think of myself as the fortunate one.
Poetic Traditions Contest