NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP

Nothing like a beautifully decorated tree,
With twinkling lights,
Shining on treasured ornaments.
We had such a tree.

Until,
Starbuck’s deconstruction.
Achieved by his new found talent,
For flying.

Using his strong back legs,
He pushes off the carpet,
As if it were a trampoline.

Once airborne.
He extends his front legs.
Unsheathing his nails,
Turning his paws into catcher’s mitts.

Leap after leap,
He snatches ornaments from the tree.
Even the angel on top gives up,
Toppling onto the crumpled tree skirt.