Dear Santa, remember that ball that I’ve had?
For several years now…it was getting quite bad…
And all that was left was some chewed rubber stuff,
A vague hint of curve and some once-yellow fluff…
I’ve taken good care to be so gentle with it
Not tugged it or torn, so the ball would forgive it,
But age takes its toll and there’s naught that can stop it
Especially when I must ‘fetch it’ and ‘drop it’.
So there’s nothing left and the ball’s like a pancake,
It no longer bounces, it just makes my jaws ache,
But although she’s offered a dozen replacements
Not one of the balls could be any solacement.
“That’s it!” said my two-legs, “the poor ball has bought it,
We must find a method or some way to sort it!
We can’t have you mourning for months being surly
And awful depressed for a lost ball, my girlie.”
So, she disappeared and came back from the kitchen
To start doing something, and me, I was itching
To see what she’s doing with needle and cotton,
But she wouldn’t let me, ’cause sometimes, she’s rotten.
But when she had finished, I couldn’t believe it!
She threw and it bounced when I went to retrieve it!
It rolled at some speed when I batted a paw
And I had to go chase it all over the floor!
What magic is this? Must be some invocation
That manages to exceed all expectation!
I’ve known for a while that she’s not been herself,
But I didn’t suspect that you’d made her an Elf!
My ball’s had facelift and looks a lot newer
Of weeks spent in mourning there now should be fewer!
So thank you, dear Santa, for magic come early,
I’m feeling all Tiggerish, bouncy and whirly!