From the next room, I hear a clatter.
Startled, I wonder what's the matter.
On the floor, I find a pen.
The cat's been knocking things again
to make sure gravity still works.
(Sometimes house cats can be such jerks.)
She's swatted nail files, paper clips,
a spool of thread, a bag of chips.
She's toppled bottles, rings, a hat.
She's quite a scientific-cat.
Her other life's work seems to be
A Ph.D. in entropy.
Scientifically speaking - a Poetry Friday post
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