Invaded By Thanksgiving Cats
Thanksgiving cats get into the pumpkin pie.
They drink down bourbon, saying “here’s mud in your eye!”
We see them arrive with a thump, a clap, a thud and a sigh.
They will put their tails all over every allergic-to-cat-guy.
They are climbing the walls now, riding the tree to the floor.
Grandma Maizey is angry, she counts them, they’re four.
Get rid of those mangy beasts, she says, irritated with them.
One is patting down her tummy, another is riding her hem.
Where did all these cats come from? Uncle Bill yells.
They are making all kinds of noise, ringing neck bells.
Two more arrive, wearing top hats, carrying red canes.
It is all we can do to not sing “cats” songs, with their refrains
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