A Crappy Christmas Cat Poem with a Cuppa Tea

T’was the day before Christmas Eve,

And all was quite spiffy.

I stayed in my PJs all day –

In neither a hurry nor jiffy.

 

I babysat two cats,

Made sure they were fed.

Never overstayed my welcome,

For they both wished me dead.

 

All was right with the world

Until one fateful hour

When I shattered a teapot,

Which turned my mood sour.

 

The only cure was puerh,

And I had me several steeps.

I mourned the pot fondly,

As I sipped between weeps.

***

T’was the day of Christmas Eve,

And I was adamant toward cheer.

I even left the apartment

To pry my head clear.

 

I needed distance aplenty

From hermitic, cat-sitting hell.

So, I searched for a teashop

In which to drunkenly dwell.

 

It being the eve of Christmas

Everything had closed early.

The absence of theanine

Was making me quite surly.

 

On my third, final attempt

I journeyed to The Jasmine Pearl.

They were open! And friendly!

And they latte’d me a Grey Earl.

 

But when I returned home,

The reverie was soon dead.

For my sister’s fiance’s cat . . .

Pooped a ring around the bed.

***

T’was the morning of Christmas,

And I awoke with a, ”Crap”.

Sister’s cat and my carpal tunnels

Pried me from five hours of nap.

 

Sister’s cat was fed and petted,

As was sister’s fiance’s li’l welp.

Yet she hissed and she clawed

As I did my best to help.

 

The only cure was Darjeeling,

Which the Lochans had provided.

Some good ol’ Makaibari Musk,

My primed palate so decided!

 

On smell, it held sweetness;

On taste, it was all honey.

Within two or three sips

I confess I felt kinda funny.

***

Holiday cheer did return

In a matter of infusions.

A work shift lay ahead

With its own host of confusions.

 

Be you with family or friends

And you feel the need to curse.

This is just a friendly reminder,

It could be a lot worse.

 

And if these poorly-plotted rhymes

Don’t convince you to rejoice.

Then go prime the damn kettle

Like you don’t have a choice.

 

No matter how bad it gets,

Or how comic the travails,

Tea is always the cure

For whatever ails.