What A Cat!
I’ve a cuddly snuggle-bug, a puddy tat, a smoochie,
Who rubs his head against me, loves to curl up on my knee.
The more I stroke his body, the louder I hear him purr,
But because he’s so furry, I’m left covered in his fur.
He’s fussed over, downright spoilt, he’s treated like royalty,
And so he should be, why shouldn’t he? He’s Siamese, you see.
He’s the pick of the bunch, a toff, an aristocrat,
And whether I like it or not, he wants pampurring, and that’s that!
He’s from Siam (now Thailand), an exotic faraway land,
Yes, he’s no common moggy — he’s gentry, you understand.
He’s Siamese and proud of it, and very handsome at that,
Yes, he’s the real deal, the real McCoy, he’s no copycat.
He has his own entry — a cat flap — attached to our door,
Which he enters, or exits when sneaking out to explore.
He’s a born and bred hunter, but when trophies come inside,
He’s quickly shooed back out in a manner most undignified.
However, all’s soon forgiven, as he’s such a gorgeous cat,
A short-haired fury feline I just love to hug and pat.
He’s a thoroughbred, lean and muscular, not one ounce of fat,
Who sits there like a sphinx — surveying — a true aristocrat.
Yes, he is rather vocal, far too vocal sometimes, and,
He gets a little tetchy, should someone not understand.
He has quite a range of sounds that intrigue, amuse, or scare,
And you should see his tail — a bottle brush — should stray cats appear.
He regularly tilts his nose, and haughty like, sniffs the air,
Stretches his slinky body, and then saunters off somewhere.
He loves to sprawl in the sun, and also across my bed,
But not where I’m sleeping please; how many times have I said!?
By Lance Landall