Clint, the cat, just hates the noises from the vacuum cleaner

When it's switched on, his temper flares, he changes his demeanor

A noisy foe, with shinning eyes, he sees in the machine

He charges forth, in bounding strides, just when I try to clean

Oncoming, like a raging bull, running full-speed ahead

Head-butting it, again again, just like he's seeing red

Spinning circles, round and round, he thinks he's made it giddy

The only thing he conquered though, was make his own self dizzy

Nothing seems to settle him, or stifle off his anger

No nothing seems to slow him down, in midst of this known stranger

He does a dozen cartwheels back, then does two dozen forward

Over the table, through the rack, heading straight towards the 'door-ward!'

It takes a few, to shake it off, and regain all his senses

But soon he's back up on his paws, resuming his offenses

He does a flying missile kick, and nearly flattens me

So blindly blinded in this rage, attacking constantly

I vacuum, ducking down my head, watching him fly on by

Heaving and weaving, spinning around, twisting the vac awry

A whirling dervish? Yes it was, just like a hurricane

The shifting winds spun me around, and rattled round my brain

About the room, just funneled on, just like Tazmanian Devil

And after it was said and done, the room still looked disheveled

Only then, did Clint calm down, switched-off, the vacuum died

From then I vowed, when I cleaned up, I'll leave the cat outside