Poem 84, for a rainy Friday

Written by my 7-year-old son and I. He wanted the number 84 in it. His ideas, some of it his words, some of it mine.
I don’t like rainy days
in so many ways:
they’re cold, they’re wet,
and they make me fret.

I’m like a cat, I hate water
rain’s to cold, I like it hotter.

I wish there was dry rain.