Ode to the Offering on the Floor

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At dawn’s pale light I hear the call,
a guttural hurk against the hall.
A symphony of gags and dread,
my slippers wait, the path I tread.

Oh noble beast, with fur so sleek,
why must thy stomach turn so weak?
A feast of kibble, scarfed too fast,
now meets the world, not meant to last.

Upon the carpet—woven, dear--
you lay your tribute, crystal clear.
A molten mound, a masterpiece,
from feline gut, this warm release.

I bow my head, both grim and true,
a janitor of love for you.
For though I curse, with paper towel,
your tiny face disarms my scowl.

So here I stand, mop in hand,
accepting what I can’t withstand.
In sickness, health, and furball’s reign,
I’ll love you still—through puke and pain.