Going around and around
Throughout every single room,
Like a cyclone spinning out of control,
Without a single trace of visible fur.
As stripes of gray and cream
Collide into the biggest vahroom,
She comes to a screeching halt.
She hops from windowsill to windowsill
Only to find the most comfortable spot;
But instead, she’s determined to climb the draperies
Until they all drop.
She pounces on your feet,
Leaps in the air,
And lands so gracefully, in your seat.
She’s a little ball of fire,
With so much energy
Who doesn’t know how to stop.
She has developed quite a personality.
She’s just a baby.
She’s not even three.
That’s Spaz.