Trailer park tabby cat, Bubba by name,
Big and strong, hunting small game.
Old habits we’ve lost, whole families sing,
around the piano, carols did ring.
One magical moment, around our green tree,
our child started singing, then so did we.
Neither planned nor expected in holiday rush,
“On dancer, on dasher” and other such mush.
Then along came Big Bubba, tail in full swish,
to swat at the bulbs, to drink from the dish.
He was fine at first, as we sang acapella,
not slowed a bit by our fine feline fella.
Then glass got broken, light cords chewed,
I’d had enough, he’d ruined the mood.
My family still sings, as if he’s not there,
Not me – I’ve just launched a bulb in the air.
Though not really aiming my shot is true,
It pings off his head, and he gets a clue.
My daughter in tears, my wife appalled,
The magic ruined, our joy recalled.
Bubba ran elsewhere, spreading mayhem and fear.
I faced the music with those I hold dear.
The lesson you ask, this magical season?
If ya bean your cat, have a really good reason.