A Lovable Creature
Always sitting, never purring,
And then sleeping, never stirring,
What a rotten lot of bicker-snicker heard by her.
And once woken,
Spirit not yet broken,
Seen to willow 'way the hours
Hunting, mewing, winding -- now her
Little tummy wants more yummies
And her radar seeks a sunny
Little patch of carpet with which to lie on
And to sprawl and stretch like lions
Gazing serenely upon the landscape they possess.
And then bicker-snicker of the Big Ones,
As they pass and dash -- to see One,
And really, One ought think they fuss too much.
But still she sits serenely gazing
Or, rather, eyes are glazing,
Vacant, void and tiredly lazing,
Over the landscape of Her Possess.
Now the children stop their fighting,
And the adults start inviting
New decisions of better wisdom than before.
Now is virtue, now is pleasant
Calm and quiet and the hesistant
Little whimper of a cat gone mad.
For now there is no joy
In being only the used and lonely toy
With which the children fought to cherish
And the Older worried would perish
If not fuss and gush were overpoured on her.
Eyes are open, blinking, staring,
Cursing mad her teeth are raving
And she stomps about the room in quite despair.
Little wonder, not soon after,
A newer queen sits blissful
While the children offer kiss-fulls
Of their arms to hold with wistful
Eyes remembering another
And their vows to cherish her.
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