A Very Bad Toys Christmas
And now, our three part tale concludes, wrapped in a neat bow and packaged as a Christmas Poem.
Twas the night before Christmas
and all through our space
the bad toys lay strewn
all over the place.
Food bowls and water bowls
were filled to the brim.
We had Trotters, and Fizzgigg
plus the one that was dim.
We listened intently for
sounds on the roof.
Cats' ears were alert
For footstep or hoof.
Then all of a sudden
I heard a great jingle.
The bad toys had started
To coalesce and mingle.
The dumb one, that Frida
She held very still.
The bad toys surrounded
her against her will.
The other two scurried
and skittered, and scrabbled
to rescue their Frida
from the plastic, cloth rabble.
They ducked under tinsel;
they ran up the tree;
They batted at snowflakes
that only they could see
They scratched open presents
on the way to the toys.
Cats hissing and yowling
And making much noise.
There, under the great tree
They go to their sister.
But twas too late, you see
She turned evil, and hissed.
The white one and grey one
lost the stinky one then.
And just as it seemed it
was over for them...
The wind began howling
The snow began falling.
At last they heard Santa -
a big load he was hauling
He burst out the chimney
With a big bag of toys
The frightened cats looked up
To examine the noise
With a twinkle in his eye
And a list in his hand
He drew out some names
Like lines in the sand
He called for them once,
Then called once again
And opened his sack
And the bad toys jumped in!
"You corrupted these cats,"
Santa said with a scowl
"Now I'm taking you back
Now you'll throw in the towel."
"I'm sorry," he said, as he
turned to the cats.
"Dear Frida, you're stinky,
but you didn't deserve that."
"My elves put some magic
in the little cloth toys -
it turns gentle felines into
naughty, bad bad boys."
"Augh Awwwh," spoke the Trotters
for he saw the light.
Everything in the house
went from all wrong to right.
After that Christmas, the house
got much better.
The carpet was barren and
free from toy clutter.
Once the gods of the house,
those humans, hit the sack
Trotters climbed up and
gave them FLUFF ATTACK.
THE END
***
Merry Christmas to kitties who
are born bad seeds,
and the people who look after them
and love them unconditionally,
no matter the cost
and no matter their deeds.
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