Smoke in the box

Smoke on the water a cool tune

smoke gets in your eyes another beauty too,

smoking is bad for you we all knew,

but no one saw this coming….

unless you own a cat of course.

Nothing sacred

whats mine is yours

what’s a little cat hair

for lunch?

Up on the table

the bucket sits empty

waiting to be filled

with Mondays work day lunch,

what do our wondering eyes do appear?

But a smoke in the box

curled up so dear.

Were you searching for mice,

or a chipmunk perhaps?

Tired of hunting curled up in there

a morning siesta for huntress Smokey,

Pa’s lunchbox a perfect lair,

but now you’ve found me sleeping there,

so outside she goes to places unknown,

perhaps the beer cooler or recycle bin,

you’ll never know the places she’s been,

smokey the wandering cat of mystery.