Kittycritter thinks he’s cool
When Lioara leaves for school.
He’s happy to be alone and able
To sleep on the forbidden table.
He roams the rooms and knocks down chairs,
Out the window, he then stares,
And scatters all my pages.
This, of course, outrages
Me. I write nice tales and would prefer
Not to find them on the floor.
Also, when you clean your paws
Keep your tail away from those
Masterpieces that I write.
Else I, too, can bite!
But Kittycritter mostly enjoys
My little girls’ plushy toys
(He hides them all under the couch,
Pretends he’s such a slouch!)
Although he has a cat’s playthings
He outgrew them (or so he thinks!)
Cars are far more tempting than
Feathers, balls and being zen.
For the better part of day
He hunts sparrows or a jay
(in truth he’d even go for squirrels
If he can’t hunt little girls.)
From behind the curtain.
Still, it’s never certain
That he won’t just fall asleep
And chase big and fatty sheep
Or green horses on the wall
(He doesn’t think they’re smart at all,
But that’s a different story
For future days of TV glory.)
When beauty sleep no. three
Is over, so is the glee:
Who’s gonna spoil him now?
Who’s to caress and pet him and bow
To his majesty? So he goes by the door
And laments on the floor:
Is Lioara ever coming back?
Who’s gonna give him his snack?
Is school ever gonna be over?
What will he do without her
Or without Mom, who comes home at seven
Or, nine, or perhaps eleven!
How long now? What time is it?
Probably three and a bit,
(Large hand on one, small on two
I don’t really have a clue!)
What’s that noise? And who goes there?
Is there a ghost under the stair?
In the bedroom maybe? No?
How to hide and where to go?
Should I stay under the bed
Keep real quiet and play dead?
He is scared and looks so smitten,
Small and cute just like a kitten.
That’s what we find when we come in.
But then he gives a silly grin
And pouts and sneers and tries to trip us
Like a really naughty Puss
Because we won’t allow him to
Run out and chase a bird or two.
(English version by Ana Alfianu)