51. Miss Tibbles

Miss Tibbles is my kitten; white

As day and black as night.

She moves in little gusts and breezes,

Sharp and sudden as a sneeze is.

At hunting Tibbles has no match.

How I like to see her catch

Moth or beetle, two a penny,

And feast until there isn't any!

Or, if they 'scape her, see her eyes

Grow big as saucers with surprise.

Sometimes I hold her calm, unwild,

As gentle as a sleeping child,

And wonder as she lies, a fur ring,

Curled upon my lap, unstirring,

Is it me or Tibbles purring?

                                             Ian Serraillier