Ridae has a wet face
Rests it on my leg
Horror as the slobber
begins to dribble
His indifference
is apparent
as his claws begin to knead
Hostile little knives
you look with contemp
Disgust dines with apathy
birthing a loathesome hate
We can only note in terror
how it all began
Boredom from a friend
who gave me the crate

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Miraman, in the year 589 AF.