Furball fatass waddling through the house
like a four legged punching bag filled with
steel packing peanuts and a dead mouse.
“Meow” and “moo” mean more than a miracle
for the feline who speaks farmhouse lingo.
If you think that I’m joking or sound satirical
just see for yourself when I call ole Bingo.
Do me a favor and try not to pet him,
his teeth sink deep and they may kill you.
I kid of course, the bastard can’t even swim.
But he rows like a champ in the family canoe.
So be kind and ignore the obvious flaws,
for Bingo knows not where to find his paws.