One sunny sweltry summer's day
Leonard Cat came round to play.
She tapped her toenails on the door.
No answer, so she took her paw
And walloped on the window pane.
"Meow," she said. "Meow," again.
I let her in. She came inside,
And instantly my desk she spied.
She sat down on my Max Nordau,
Emitted a precise meow,
Said "Let me walk on your computer.
This way your essay will be cuter."
"Okay, okay, but don't delete it.
Leonard! Not the caps lock! Beat it!"
I tried to coax her down. Her purr
Deterred me from my task. Her fur
Was getting in my keyboard, oh
Her rear end rested on Rousseau.
Concerned for paper and for print,
I fired at her my final hint:
"See this room? It's yours to roam –
The couch, the chairs, my whole damned home –
Just leave my papers to themselves
And stay away from all my shelves."
She stretched, she stared, she downright grunted,
She jumped down from my desk, affronted,
And sashayed over to the table
While I replugged my broadband cable.
I tried to focus on my thesis,
Disarrayed by her kinesis.*
I tried to get a sentence down,
A noun, a verb, another noun,
But where was Leon? Where was she at?
Leonard was sitting on my hat.
The End, though, y'know, I could go on, about the cup of tea I made, and how I checked my email, and how she's still sitting on my hat. It's all happening round here, let me tell you.
* It's at this point that I surrender all hope for the future of rhyming couplets.