Wrong Package

Opening the box, I looked at what’s inside.
The scene, too bizarre. I could’ve cried.

Eleven stuffed dogs of various breeds,
Of which, I can say, I have no kind of needs.

I’m a cat-person: I dig the feline.
Cats are majestic: they’re nearly divine.

Dogs are rabid, disgusting, a mess.
They certainly cannot be one of the blessed.

A knock at the mirror draws my attention.
My mirrored self looks at me: a question.

He points at the box, acts out an action.
The idea’s too vague; it has no kind of traction.

Finally, my double breaks through the glass,
Shouts, “Give me my box, you pompous ass!”

Realization finally hits home just in time:
My opposite self really loves the canine!

I hand him the box with eleven stuffed pups,
Thankful they’re gone and I start to clean up.

The only mystery I still can’t quite solve:
How did my double somehow get me involved?

And does he have my box of stuffed cats?
Why didn’t he give it? What’s up with that?!

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