Who says that if a cat is ―
She must always, without fail,
Lap her milk up from a saucer,
Be idle and be grand.
To fill the little mice with dread,
So they dare not venture out,
Sitting day and night in burrows ―
Shedding bitter tears of doubt.
Who says that if a cat is ―
Then the sparrow takes to flight,
And the other birds as well:
What a dreadful, savage sight!
To nick the sausages from the kitchen,
Shred the sofa once again,
Chase a fly to her heart's content
And cause a proper hullabaloo.
Yes, some cats are like that,
But our Tiddles is a little one,
Very kind and innocent,
Wouldn't hurt a mouse for fun!
He won't touch even the birds
Nor tear the curtains down,
He'll be quite surprised, I reckon:
‘Why on earth make such a row?’
He's a well-mannered kitten:
He plays ball with the puppy.
Milk, alas, he doesn't fancy,
He eats chops and a crusty bun.
He won't hurt even a fly,
He has friends all round the place,
All these tales about cats ―
I'm telling you, to your face.
Who says that if a cat is ―
Then she's surely a savage beast!
As long as there's a home and a saucer,
He'll be the best friend, believe me!
Well, if he gets mischievous,
It's only out of love,
He's so keen on your work
And misses you terribly enough!
