You can’t do much with a cat in your lap—
you can’t get up to take a leak
or kiss your wife upon the cheek
or take a poker and nudge a log;
you wouldn’t have this problem
with your average dog.

A cat in your lap is a handicap–
you’ll miss a program on your TV
if before the cat gets comfortable
you haven’t turned on the DVD.

When the needle comes to the end of a record
while your lap is full of cat
it’ll sound like you’re being hectored;
lap cats are to blame for this sort of crap.

Before you sit down with a cat on your lap
you should probably think
about fixing yourself a tall cool drink;
you’re not getting away, at least for awhile,
once a cat has belayed you
with cunning and guile.

With a cat in your lap you can’t do much—
‘bout all you can do, is stroke it and touch
it under the chin, just so, the way it prefers,
if you’re perverse you’ll reverse the nap of its fur.

Cats in laps are a bit like travel;
enforced idleness, but without the suitcases
or the irksome necessity of going strange places.
A helpful assistant if you need to unravel
the skein of your day; man, woman, fire, cat—
absolutely nothing wrong with that.