Prince Luka

When you were an undersized whelp, 

the mere sight of your mug caused my brain to hurt,

crammed with gooey emotions. 

When I first encountered you, 

I saw your appearance to be pure, but then

you showed your true colors;

the dark peeking through the light.

The sight of you even harder to bear.

Like a weed, you grew,

And with each month that you squatted in my home,

you stole a thing I valued.

Years of cleaning up after you,

as you leave trails of hair and discards from couch to yard.

My back is starting to protest.

I don't know how many more seasons it can take,

though many more would not be unwelcome.

If you last only sixteen years or so,

then I would not be unhappy.

To not see your long face at the window,

Watching for me, would be traumatic.

To not have to fend off your filthy paws would be devastating.

You are a messy and destructive hairy beast,

but you are my Prince Luka.