“Fat lazy sleepy Highlander breed cats”

Upon a tartan rug beside the fire’s gentle gleam,  
A Highlander reclines, in the softest, purring dream.  
With tufts upon his velvet paws and whiskers wide and grand,  
He reigns in royal bonelessness across the shadowed land.  

His coat—a thick and wheaten tide, a mane of plush delight—  
Like Scottish heather brushed with cream and misty silver light.  
His emerald eyes, half-closed in thought, are portals unto peace,  
Where every care is soothed at once and every fret will cease.  

He stretches long, then coils again, a paisley patch of fur  
Untroubled by the scurrying mouse or far-off robin’s chirr.  
The laird of idle afternoons, he lords it o’er his realm,  
A lolling, rolling monarch too well-padded at the helm.  

The world outside may bluster on, may call and crowd and race,  
But Highlanders, with heavy lids, are masters of this place.  
FOR Haste and Chores and Earnest Deeds shall pass him idly by,  
He’ll stay content where dreams are fat and time itself is pie.  

So toast this lass or laddie with a languid, lavish yawn:  
For Highlander breed kitties sleep from dusk until the dawn.  
And if you wish to understand true comfort, ease, and cheer,  
Just lie beside this sleepy soul—and nap the whole long year.

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