Mr. Wilkins

I am a little pussy
Who really is quite fussy.
I lick my paws, then clean my fur,
I sleep all day and softly purr.

A pussy who's so very tame,
Mr. Wilkins is my name.
A green-eyed cat with fur that's short,
I am well-groomed, I am self-taught.

When the winter cold is here,
It is not I that sheds a tear,
For by the fire, I lay my head,
So warm and cosy, in my bed.

My basket stays close by the hearth,
And on its cushion, is a scarf.
I wrap the scarf around my head,
I hide away and then play dead.

And as I stretch so cosily,
I elongate sybaritically.
But all the time, I thinking am,
Of some sly plan or cunning scam.

I frolic in the catmint patch,
And with my paws, I petals catch.
A smell to me as good as tar,
Is when the rosebuds open are.

But most of all, I like to chase,
Sparrows and blue-tits from the place.
I stalk the garden, I am quite bad,
And sometimes pounce when I am mad.

With some emerald wool I play,
Ruining poor Grandma's day.
For now she can not knit her mits,
The wool is tangled and in bits.

Faced with this, she is dismayed,
A debt I owe remains unpaid.
For after all my life is easy,
I do not work or get paws greasy.

And when she comes to give me milk,
I brush against her, soft as silk.
I love to have her stroke my fur,
Thank you Granny, is what I purr.