My name is Bob and I’m a cat
My selfies can attest to that.
My coat is lush with ginger stripes
So ladies all over love to Skypes
But here’s my nearly tip-top truth:
Avocados are my favorite fruit.
In general when it comes to food
Hungry is my state of mood:
Broccoli, arugula, carrots, kale,
Cheese and crackers, fresh or stale,
French bread and rye, yogurt and peas,
It makes little difference, I like all of these.
I’m a guy, I live to eat,
Couldn’t care less, veg, carbs or meat.
But with fruit it isn’t so.
No. With fruit there’s just one way to go:
Av. Oh. Ca. Do.
(I always say it like that, staccato.)
I pierce the skin to get to the flesh
Which is the part I enjoy best.
I’m careful now about the pit—
Once a fang got stuck in it
And I bit
Her when she used her Bic
To fling it off. Oops. Sorry. Sort of.
The skin is thin as a communion wafer
And with incipient gagging it’s safer
To spit the wad out, slimed and masticated,
And saunter off, tail high, emancipated.
Back to that custardy green enjoyment,
I wish eating avos was my full-time employment.
I used to test-bite them all in a bowl
But now she hides them so the goal
Is to sit very close to her dinner plate
And paw pieces out (which of course she hates),
But what. Am I to just accept the fate
Of a no-avo diet? Give me a break.
I’m a guy and I’m a cat.
I love avocados and that is that.