My first is a food that Dr. Seuss did rhyme, My last means to give someone a hard time. Together, it’s a place to spend a lazy day Relaxing as back and forth you sway.

In the kitchen, I eagerly wait, For cheese, carrots, or something great. With sharp, tiny teeth, I shred and bequeath, A pile of savory fate.

I don’t come in the way you expect. I slip in from behind, quiet and sure. And when that won’t work, I come up from underneath instead.

Low-level labyrinth, mortuary maze, Or a means to pick nits, from flea-ridden strays?

I wear black and white but I’m not alive. Cars must pause so people arrive. I look like a zebra frozen in place. What am I that helps you cross alive?