Robbie sobbed despairingly
What? Eight already? Can it be?
Alas! He’s only four months old
Too little to be self-controlled.
And what’s a kitten full of beans
With mischief threaded through his genes
Supposed to do when instinct calls
And curiosity enthralls –
When paws have minds all of their own
That shove one’s nose down paths unknown
To sniff at this and play with that
Or tumble like an acrobat
To nibble spiders, leap at moths
And claw your way up tablecloths
While hoping there’s enough up there
To hold your weight and not to scare
You when the glasses, plates and knives
Crash down and claim one of your lives?
But now he must be good as gold
Or stand no chance of growing old –
Sniffed Robbie with a mew-ted whine,
“A kitten should have more than nine!”
From “A Flash In The Pun”