Whose cats these are, I think they know,
Who saved them from last winter's snow,
Who took them in and kept them near,
Who fed them, groomed them, watched them grow.

Our friends all thought it rather queer
To take in strays, and voiced the fear
That allergies and such would make
Us rue the day throughout the year

It hasn't turned out a mistake
Though on occasion things *do* break,
And cat fur, difficult to sweep,
Clogs the Hoover's small intake.

They lie around us, heap by heap.
Outside the snow again is deep.
Inside, we've promises to keep
And cats to feed before we sleep.
And cats to feed before we sleep.

--Sondra Rosenberg
(used with the kind permission of the author)