Marlon’s a gentleman, patched white and brown,
Struts like he’s mayor of this whole darn town.
Rescued in twenty, he found his new place,
Declared every sofa his personal space.
He loves being lazy—it’s truly an art,
Sprawled on the floor like he’s falling apart.
But shout “dinner time!” and you’ll see a blur,
Motivation? Food. That’s what makes him stir.
Outside he’s thrilled—“I’m king of the park!”
Sniffing new corners from dawn until dark.
But ask him to leave? He’ll pretend you’re not there,
Rooted in place like an old comfy chair.
And indoors? He’s settled—“I’m cozy right here.”
Suggest going out? He just won’t volunteer.
“Move from my throne? Now why would I try?
Your plan sounds exhausting—I’ll kindly deny.”
Squeaky toys? Ha! He’s their ultimate doom,
Shreds them with gusto all over the room.
Fluff on the carpet, a massacre scene,
He’s proud of destruction—he keeps it pristine.
Sticks are his passion—he snaps them in two,
“Look what I did! I’m impressive, it’s true!”
Marches around like he’s won a grand prize,
Tail wagging high with those big goofy eyes.
Overly friendly? He insists on hello,
Greets every stranger with wiggling show.
Once he was wary and guarded his kin,
Now everyone’s welcome—“Come on in!”
He’s loud when he’s hyped, he’ll shout to the skies,
Running in circles with crazed happy eyes.
But give him a cushion, and all that will fade,
Snoring like thunder, dead asleep in the shade.
So cheers for Lord Marlon, the stubborn old pro,
Who chooses exactly when he’ll come or go.
Lazy yet eager, protector turned clown,
The white-and-brown monarch who runs this whole town!
