Our first cat was Brunhilda,
From a Wagnerian opera,
She was quiet a character, as cats go
She was the boss, and she let everyone know,
Her son was a beautiful Persian cat,
Cross-eyed, lazy, that thought he was a mat,
All day he used to lie in the sun,
His objective in life, was a permanent tan,
The only time he was awake,
Was when he checked to see – if I brought him his steak!
His name was Sparafuchile, from Verdi’s Rigoletto,
You will know it right away, if you read the libretto,
Both Brunhilda and Sparafuchile, were indifferent
To the opera world, music or content,
They were both, a great disappointment,
More than once, I showed them my discontent,
Yet because they had such good rapport,
With our dog, we could not really ask for more,
Then the third cat joined our growing tribe,
How, I have no words to describe,
Unlike the classical names of his predecessors,
His name was Gizmo, nothing like his ancestors,
Gizmo was a simple cat, alert and busy
He went and came when he wanted, was very easy,
He was white, with beautiful blue eyes,
Never asked for anything, was a blessing in disguise,
When we moved overseas, and Gizmo stayed behind,
He was offered a political position, which he declined
Last, I heard, about Gizmo, he started a new venture,
Building mousetraps, he always loved new adventure

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