Table Cat

He sits by your table to wait,

eyes lovingly fixed on your plate,

if it's fish, he'll appear in a trice

abandoning hunting for mice.

He's ginger or tabby or black

and seemingly one of a pack,
but, in truth, it's each cat for himself,

tracking down the best morsels by stealth.

He'll woo you with eyes full of love,

wrapt attention trained on your each move,

but the second you lay down your fork

he'll disdainfully turn tail and walk.

He frequents secret harbour-side spots 

then at lunch down he jauntily trots,

warm place in the sun left behind,

whiskers eager to detect a good find.

And that, my dear friend, is your dish,

whether rabbit or lamb shank or fish,

for by charm to steal mouthfuls of that

is the work of a Gozitan cat.

© Janet Henderson 7th May 2016