All day long I hear howls, barks, and squeaky toys.
Sometimes one of those humans walk past and say–” good boy.”

But my favorite comes by, holding a leash in hand.
Outside to play? Or learn a new command?

No. I’m taken for a walk. A quick one into a strange room.
There’s a mad furball but it’s not a tennis ball. What a strange yard to bring me to. 

The furball hisses and spits. Can I go now?
I would rather play fetch or eat peanut butter. I don’t want this furball around.

My favorite human takes me out. No longer able to be annoyed. 
Back into my clean home. “That’s a good boy.”

Written from a possible POV of a dog who had a cat interaction at the humane society.