In the course of going through my grandmother's and great-aunt's house yesterday, looking for furniture that I could potentially use in my own home, I ran across what is apparently my first attempt at poetry, ever. It is as follows:

Cats
Pat about the house,
And you can pat
A cat.
Now,
How about that?

My great-aunt Mimi's handwriting is on the back: "Beth, age 4." There are also two stick figure cats on the work.

I really don't think my writing ability has improved appreciably over the past 18 years, and I'm a little bit scared of that fact.