They’re precious little killers stalking on their tippy-toes
Deciphering all they need to know with a whiskered, velvet nose.
Listen—micies pitter patter. Look—there’s birdies on the wing.
Crouch low-and-pounce on crickets, when those bugs begin to sing.

Doing everything they pleases as they strut their walk-about,
Napping lightly with ears open to the faintest hiss or shout.
Enjoying a sunbath and a roll in dusty leaves
Sharpening claws to razors on the back of chairs, not trees.

Forever busy prowling—wanting in, then wanting out.
Demanding their every whim—they glare a silent pout.
Such itsy-bitsy tigers on the lookout for fresh prey,
Seeing near as well at night time as they do by light of day.

Shouldn’t tell them they are naughty—they were born with fangs for teeth.
But do tell them they’re nice kitties when they run to greet,
Rubbing silky soft against you as they grace you with a purr.
Then they stretch and wash their undies—they’re so comfy in their fur.
Sure, they’ll let you scratch their tummies and stroke between their ears.
Do not squeeze them or aggrieve them, in a second they will veer
Away and flip their tail at you while turning up their nose
Imperially assuming a distinctive, sphinx-like pose.

If they like, they’ll share their house with you and maybe share their chair.
Shedding fur so all the world will know—this IS a kitties’ lair.
The world is their savannah, ruling all there is to see,
Living by that feline motto: “I’m the best there is to be.”

Published in Poems