He's not aided from our kitchen
And yet he will not famish
He's here to consume what he likes
Without any vigor
His moves, decides for him
His choices doesn't count
Around the house
The galley is not his choiceful shire
There he verves,
Fast moving, none stops
We are so deranged
Since when the parlor tiles gleams such moving shininess
There, with his gangling
Hiding his presence
We all became insensitive, to ourselves
Climbing on top of the couch
Afraid to stare him
Willing to see,
Where he will stop
He was looking for prey.
