O Jill, my delicate calico,
Thy bulk swaying majestically as thy dainty paws poke holes in my belly,
So sweet and cuddly when thy mood dictates;
I look into thine eyes and know
Thou hast a dark side to thee.
Why dost thou shit upon the floor?
Thy fancy litter box is cleaned once every morn.
Thou hast not any sickness,
Nor any reason to be upset;
Nay, thou be’st but a spoiled diva
Who doth poop wherever in such smelly fashion.
(I love you, but go in the box, you damn cat.)