Not a Dog

This ball of fur

upon the bed

is forever coming

too close to my head

Your stature is small

your footprints are minimal

still you slink about

like some sort of criminal

Jumping out from furniture

you've hidden behind

Scaring the bejesus 

out of my mind

Malevolence and manipulation

are traits of your kind

Even though your features

are rather refined

You're forever encroaching

close to my face

Always invading

my personal space

Why won't you quietly

sit on a mat,

come when called, 

enjoy a quick pat? 

You refuse to roll over

for a belly rub

Instead, slinking away

preferring to snub

Why won't your tail

wag with delight

when informed it is time

to walk of a night?

Why can't my fingers

twirl around your ears?

A sensation I've missed

for so many years...

The Orthographist

Website by The Orthographist

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