Thou perpetually hungry feline
Thou pumpkin-colored baby with pot-belly swinging
What shiny, white teeth you display
As you chew on my curtain cords
Dangling so tantalizingly in the sun
Will I be so fortunate as to catch a glance from you?
Perhaps even a rub against a leg?
What crumb of affection? What acknowledgement of my existence?
Ah, bold, hungry house tiger!
Deposing the more docile sibling from the throne
To claim it as your own as you rest your belly
And survey your kingdom
O whisker-face! Aloof puddy tat! with stubby tail
Borne of a mutation ages ago on the Isle of Man;
Thou art too cute for words and will forever suffer
The indignities of being held, squeezed, and kissed
Forever hear the words, “Who’s a good kitty? Who’s a precious little baby??”
My Corner of the Village 