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I always found it tough — living with others.
Like with Mincey and my love — no food in the cupboards.
First he’d disappear — as I walked in the room.
The culprit was clear — all crumbs and no broom.
She’s not super sociable — sleeps right through the dawn.
Especially emotionally — seeing the holes in our wall.
His courage flourished — with time and more heists.
These peckish crusaders — tremble at their might.
She’d leave food on the hob — with no one looking,
Ratatouille lookout — Mincey’s a cookin!
Next she knocks on the door — to her own kitchen.
Playing drums, banging floors — seeking admission.
She’s screaming and yelling —and don’t seem to happy.
The squeaks and the scuttles—inspired a tabby.
Now suddenly, it stopped — I wonder what happened?
Just me, love, and the cat now — a little more fattened.
