Kitten the Pig

This here's a tale of my kitten, whose real name is Toulouse but whom I shall call Pig.

'Twas a few nights before Christmas
When all through the house,
There was nothing but scratching
And the jingle of a catnip mouse.
It seemed a few of Pig's claws had fin'ly gone bare,
And we had no more caps; there were none there.
So out we ventured into the cruel, bitter cold
To make a special trip to the closest Petco.
At the cash register we noticed not yule logs,
But what can this be? Breath mints for dogs?
Wait, we said, they have some for cats!
Let's try it, we nodded, they're called Pit'r Pats!
Home we brought them, and each cat got a treat,
Never mind that they smelled oddly like meat.
Skip forward, to 4 in the morn,
I woke up to sounds of metal on floor.
Bleary-eyed, I searched for the noise
Who could it be, but of course Piggy boy!
There lay the Pit'r Pats tin on the ground
Face down and open, not one mint around.
He had eaten them all, the gluttonous pouncer.
That's the last time I leave something up on the counter.