Sink Cat

Sink cat,

Sink cat,

What will you do

When the water drips on you?

Sink cat,

Sink cat,

Where will you go

When the water starts to flow?

Sink cat,

Sink cat,

Please just leave!

I just want to brush my teeth...

Behind the Poem...Cats

This poem is a tribute to anyone that has a weirdo fluffball like I do. I have a cat named T.C. (short for Top Cat). You may know him already, as he has appeared in several of my works so far. And that's for a reason: he is a large and awkward boy causing all sorts of mischief. He tries to fit anywhere he can plop himself down - the window, wrapped around my head on a pillow, any and every box he can find, and ~occasionally~ the sink. If the onery orange fluff will fit, he will sit.

And as many cats, he also really likes to drink running water. It doesn't matter if he already has water in his bowl; every time the he hears the sink faucet turn on, he bolts for it. So combine these two things, and what do you have? You have a cat in the sink. A cat in the sink when you're trying to get ready for work. A cat in the sink when you're trying to wash your hands and brush your teeth. A cat in the sink when you need to rinse the oatmeal cleansing goop off your face. A cat in the sink when you really need to wipe all the now gross fur out before company arrives. He just sits there with his big boy eyes pleading "Mom! Let me stay!" as he laps the water that's accumulated on his fur - not for the sake of staying dry, he just likes to drink fur water sometimes. And when you have a fluffball that likes to drink fur water in the mornings, I don't think you do anything BUT write about it. 

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