I know that’s a strange thing to call it.
But helpless was I to forestall it.
My heart was just in it, somehow.
He’d curl on the side of my mattress.
Having his self a good cat rest.
And after he ridded his cat stress.
He’d look up at me and meow.
Some days my Wallet would wash up.
He'd lick from midnight to sunup.
Then hack for awhile till he’d throw up.
I guess he despised his fur.
Clean Wallet slept days, like nonstop.
Less I scared him; then he would flip-flop.
Puff up to resemble a rag mop.
Then shoot out the room in a blur.
But Wallet now lives in Fatcatland.
That’s what I’m led to understand.
Where he Heavenly naps on a Great Big Divan.
And how I miss his meow.