Relationship Blues

A small bloodstained tangle of meat and bone
Like Christmas ribbons scattered on her stoop
Red-decked walls of her beloved brownstone
Her hateful Yorkie now nothing but soup

Perhaps this should be the day I explain
My nocturnal absence every full moon,
That allergy to silver and wolfsbane,
Even what happened to that damned raccoon

Too late now to find gentle rhetoric,
As my fiancée’s steps round the corner
There in my head a plan suddenly clicks,
Recalling a diabolical purr

Her eyes widen in consummate horror,
And I blurt: “I saw your cat off poor Butter!”

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