Mrow

Some may find it very odd
That we take them out, and poke and prod,
And put them in a tiny cage.
I wonder if they get enraged.

Our babies are babies, but not human ilk,
But furry, and fuzzy, and favoring of milk,
And as important to us as are
The children of others they declare with stickers on the backs of a van or car.

They carry our love when it gets to much to carry,
And like a treasure, they'd horde and they'd bury
It if they had a good place to do so,
One that doesn't smell like doo. So...

And while they may protest,
And say that my motives only bring them distress,
I don't mind saying it, 'cause it's true:
It gives me another reason to spend time with you.