
Gloria Chufflepuff Braveheart the first!
You might be a cutie, but you’re by far the worst
for fluffy attitude and arsiness and grumpiness galore,
when you don’t get your way and we shout out, “No more!”
as you cavort round the house, knocking things on the floor,
swinging from curtains and causing uproar.
Stalking the birds as you stare at the skies,
then running to hide from the big, bad magpies.
Splashing in water that you’re meant to drink
and shouting out, “Ham!” as you sit in the sink.
Swishing your tail and shaking your floof
with your nose in the air as you act all aloof.
Until darkness falls and you creep to my bed,
where you snore and fidget and sleep on my head
– one paw in my mouth, another up my nose.
Who knew that cats had such sharp elbows?!
But today is your birthday! I’ve tried not to shout
when you leaned in to kiss me but gave me a clout,
when you nuzzled my head and then spat in my hair,
when you coughed up a furball and fell off the chair.
Because we all still adore you even when you act tough.
Happy Birthday you infuriating bundle of fluff.

You may have woken me up at 6am (it’s Saturday, that’s really quite rude) by clattering a ping pong ball around the kitchen floor.
You may have insisted on going outside despite the rain lashing down, and then come in dragging wet leaves and debris across the freshly-vacuumed carpet.
You may have sat in the middle of the floor with your fur stuck up on end, looking like a giant fluffy porcupine, swiping away any offers of a towel, preferring instead to wipe your wet fur along the soft furnishings.
I tried to take some pictures. You refused to smile for the camera. You refused to sit still for the camera. You hate my camera.
So Happy Birthday, you mischievous heap of fluff and mayhem. Here’s to another year of sleeplessness, irritability and attitude… I’m talking about you, not me, sweet cheeks. Hope you’ve enjoyed your day more than I have *mwah*




