Mira

We call her our "rat,"
But she's not that or a cat.
Round, and round, and round she goes...
When she bites, it's usually Joe's toes.

The pitter patter of her feet,
Black and brown, cutely petite,
Tells you that she's coming soon
From the hallway into your room.

Like a baby, she plays and sleeps.
She wags her tail and chews on her feet.
She sits on your lap at the end of the day,
And does other things which I won't say.

I don't really want a dog like her,
With dark, beady eyes and short, black fur,
But I can't help breaking out in a smile,
When she curls up beside me and rests for a while.

I'll forgive you, Mira, I suppose,
For the chewed-on shoes and bitten toes.
Your cuteness, for you, has saved the day.
Now, I've got to get back to my crochet.