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He has claws like ice picks that no dog will goes near
His teeth are so sharp and have grown way past his chin
It's a job getting them out once he's got them sunk in
He sleeps where he wants, even on our new leather chair
We would all like to shift him, but none of us dare
He eats what he want's and if he want's more
He goes and steals it from the people next door
Once the vet rang us from the emergency ward
She won't see him again unless we get him declawed
He is sitting beside me while I am writing this poem
He'd love to see what I've written But I'm to scared to SHOW HIM.
(c) Mike O'Brien
