poem: Eating the Heads Off Of.

Eating the heads off of succulent mice
Is a pastime that holds my attention quite well
There are some that would tell me it's not very nice,
so I ask them politely to go rot in hell.

They're furry, they're feisty, they squiggle, they squirm,
And their vertebra crunch in a most pleasing way.
Their grey matter tender, their white matter firm...
And they're easy to find, so I don't have to pay.

I realize you might find my hobby macabre,
Or grotesque, or unseemly at that;
Believe me, however: my singular job
Would be far more frightful were I not a cat.