I walked headfirst into a gate,
And fell, distressed into the drapes,
And saw, outside, a cat with hair,
And a furry man with two eclairs.
Beside him lay a faceless dog,
Who indulged in wordless monologue,
And ate, presumably, the cat,
Who'd vanished while we'd had this chat.
The man, instead, ate eclairs both,
And made the dog shed off her coat,
And added to his furry skin,
A pelt of finest, canine lint.
The naked dog then ate the man,
Grew fangs, fur and attention span,
And earned a surely feline face,
And along with that, canine disgrace.
Certainly, something was amiss,
What respectable dog would meow and hiss?
And what the deuce possessed her throat?
Her barks came out like wordy gloats!
And then, alas, the dog had died!
Her abrupt demise all sense defied,
Her stomach was twisted all in knots,
And the people claimed it was the pox.
Some argued that she had been beaten,
Some said it was something she'd eaten,
Perhaps it was the cat with hair?
But methinks it was the damned eclairs.