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  The White House Panther I sit in my corner, so handsome and grand, The finest White House Panther in the land. But my brother keeps copying everything I do, My pillow, my pose, and my serious stare too. He wants to be perfect, and I understand, Who wouldn’t want to be the #1 panther in the land?

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  The Black House Panther My brother thinks he’s handsome and grand, The finest White House Panther in the land. But look at my eyes, my paws, and my stare, I’ve got all that perfection with twice as much flair. He thinks I’m copying, but here’s what I see, He’s been practicing all along to look just like me.

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  He Cannot Fit He Cannot Sit He cannot fit. He cannot sit. I can’t believe it. I saw him quit. Finally a box to best a cat. I bet tomorrow I’ll find it flat.

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  Why does she look at me this way? Why does she look at me this way, as if she has nothing left to say? As if the love I’ve given her is enough, and she doesn’t need any other stuff. Comment if you can so I understand. Was this gaze caused by the works of my hands?

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  What's your story? Here’s a fun game. Take a picture of a scene that’s part of a painting, not the entire painting, because they have their own stories. And while those would be fun to rewrite, we’re making our own story here. Then send that portion of the painting to friends and ask them who they are in the scene if they were to be one of the characters and why. I’ll start, but by no means is my story the only one to be told here. Feel free to add. Story. _Mom’s pissed. Why? See the...

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  Why does she look at me this way? cross-posted from: lemmy.world/post/53632632 Why does she look at me this way, as if she has nothing left to say? As if the love I’ve given her is enough, and she doesn’t need any other stuff. Comment if you can so I understand. Was this gaze caused by the works of my hands?

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  He Arranged the Photograph Try not to laugh. I arranged the pillows. But he arranged the photograph.

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  Furry White Waves cross-posted from: lemmy.world/post/53016235 Furry waves of wondrous white Will you be grooming yourself tonight? You’ve left yourself in quite a mess. I’m Grabbing the Brush! It’s giving me stress!

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  Your cat is looking at you like this. What did you do?

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  Someone’s sleeping in my bed! Someone’s sleeping in my bed, I found him there, all nicely spread. I sniffed his ears. I checked his head. Yep. Someone’s sleeping in my bed. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t care. He acts like he belongs in there. I’ve checked the rules. I’ve checked again—. This bed is mine. So who let him in?

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  Teardrop on the couch Teardrop, teardrop on the couch, How’d you get so round and slouched? Pointy front and big behind, The strangest little teardrop you’ll find. Teardrop, teardrop, soft and fat, Wait a minute— That’s my cat!

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  Offer to help the chef! Love this spaghetti eating Mona Lisa, so I took a picture. Looked at the whole picture later and had to laugh over “Offer to help the chef” at the bottom. To whomever arranged the store items, well done! 👏🏼

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  All Hail the King He sits with grace upon his throne, A coat as white as polished stone. One paw placed just so, befitting— All hail the King. One eye of gold, one icy blue, A royal gaze that passes through. So prim, so proper, everything— All hail the King. His snowy chest, his noble stare, Not one white whisker out of square. Except that little crust ain’t sugar— All hail the King of eye boogers.

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  Hiding Away Two pretty faces, hiding away, Certain they’ve fooled me again today. One guards the entrance, serious and white, One’s in the back going, “Dude… move right.” It’s secret. It’s clever. Their plan is complete. Except for the whiskers. And faces. And feet.

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  Eyes Like Autumn

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  The Best Things The best things don’t arrive at the door because you clicked “buy now.” They arrive because, while you were searching somewhere else, they had already, on quiet paws, found you.

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  The Riches Are Dust. So keep all the castles. The jewels can rust. The fortune means nothing. The riches are dust. Because all this face, Though it easily could… Would never trade you Not even for the world.

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  SHHHH! Don’t wake the lion. SHHHH! Don’t wake the lion, He’s dreaming in his den, Of stalking through the bedroom And hunting mice again. His snowy mane is mighty, His whiskers fierce and long, He rules the quilted kingdom— Where every cat belongs. His paws are built for pouncing, His claws are tucked away, But should a careless toe go by… That toe might be his prey! He prowls across the pillows, He conquers every chair, He guards the wild savannah From halfway up the stair....