The Pushover

I hardly notice anymore or check
His soft-click pitter-patter, at my side,
My challenge: “stay” when leaving for a sec,
Seems all for naught, he hears “stay near” instead.

Or if perchance I move from couch to bed,
He pounces up to snuggle in “his” lap,
My skeins are oft upended, tossed in shreds
As he secures the spot on which to plop.

And yet I’m helpless to resist this pup,
I gladly let him redefine my space,
Pushover to his charms, his wags, his crop

of wavy fur, and, oh, that funny face.

Some say I am his owner, he’s my pet,
I say “no”, he owns me! I’m content.

 

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