Apparently, It's possible to Have One's Cake and Eat It Too

Stupid Pet Tricks

Missy isn't well today.
She's bloated like a tick
Because she ate a birthday cake.
Yet, she isn't really sick

My bedroom's full of acrid stench
I'd rather not discuss.
I let her sleep upon my bed
out of sympathy; I'm a wuss!

She's big and round, but not so jolly.
I hope she'll be okay.
Perhaps she'll learn from this dumb folly.
I don't think so, what you say?

That's life at my house this morning in a nutshell. Now the whole world knows why I don't write rhyming poetry, but that's the best I can do in three minutes.
Happy Thursday!