Obtaining sustenance is such a chore
That there are days I lack the will to try.
For why should I have kibble on the floor
When lovely odors drift down from on high?

And when I leap to that ambrosial place
My inborn grace receives no word of praise.
I’m shooed away, my bowl shoved in my face,
And fixed in an unblinking, baleful gaze.

But when I deign to nose my meager meal,
I jump, when in the corner of my eye
A sudden movement! I spin on my heel,
And find my tail. It’s hard to recognize!

And if there’s nothing better I could do
I might consent to take a bite or two.