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Kitty Fluffy and her Thanksgiving plate
Invited us to dine, yelling “Don’t be late!”
Kitty was welcoming, her plate was absurd.
We are having a twenty pound turkey, a hideous bird!

That plate is annoying said my cousin Tom.
But funny, I added, what planet do you live on?
My first talking plate, he said. I find it crass.
Take a valium said I. It will polish your brass.

Kitty Fluffy served the best eats on Thanksgivings Day.
We ate until we were stuffed silly, in a marvelous way.
She served salmon, spinach, squash, spiced pumpkin bread too.
We had cleaned that plate sixteen times before we were through.

The plate was grateful; I guess each lick gets him off.
He said we’ll all be napping in a bit; and Tom gave out a scoff.
Kitty Fluffy’s glorious green eyes rolled back in her head.
For a couple of seconds I thought that meowing fat cat was dead.

Not dead, just comatose, said a wee voice from the salt shaker.
I leaned my ear down there, as Tom became a grabbing salt taker.
A talking salt shaker! He hissed in my left ear.
I think this is amazing, clever, unique, and quite dear.

I knew he was a kleptomaniac and wished I had not brought him to Kitty’s.
He was a bit inebriated too, and sang a weird song about women’s titties.
Kitty Fluffy awakened and accused us both of being wicked and bad.
I gave her salt shaker back, but toward Tom I was now really mad.

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