Marieanne McAvoy’s dustcat hat

Cat hat, dustcat hat, cat on a hat that’s where she sat

And the dustcat of course was round and fat

In the hat, with ears like a bat having eaten the dust

That she licked from the mat, 

With a tongue like a tube, like a trick like a twist

It’s a dustcat hat it’s a joke it’s a trap 

And its heavier now than a regular cap

But a regular cap won’t

Give your face a lap with a long tube tongue

That can suck and rasp

And you gasp and you writhe as it licks your face

The hat’s cleaning you, such a big disgrace

For what is dust but bits of skin

That are dead, that are dry, that are flakey thin

What a dustcat wants is a dusty snack

And your skin is fresh but it won’t hold back

Not this hat, not this dustcat hat on your head

In your face, clawing down your spine

Eating skin, dead skin maybe yours maybe mine

It may not be cute, it might be an attack

But you won’t like a cat who is feeling a lack

Any lack at all it’ll be in your face,

With its teeth and its paws and its feline grace

What were you thinking, did you dust this place?

Now that cat in your hat has to eat your skin

Though it looks quite fat this cat feels so thin

And you won’t put it off with the scent of gin

And you won’t get away though you try and you pray

It’s a cat hat, dustcat on your head

And it may eat your face if it thinks you’re dead.

(With thanks to Marieanne for the prompt!)

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