On the windowsill she reigns, aloof and plump, A striped enigma with a royal rump. Her gaze is sharp, her whiskers twitch She’s judging you, and every glitch. She saw you eat that third éclair, Then trip while dancing down the stair.
She blinked once—slow, a feline sigh As if to say, “You’re barely getting by.” Your outfit? “Bold,” she seems to sneer, “Did you dress blindfolded, my dear?” Your date last night? “A walking yawn.” She stretched and yawned till they were gone. She scoffs at dogs, at birds, at rain, At vacuum cleaners (pure disdain).
She’s unimpressed by human flair Unless you’re opening tuna, then she’ll care. But deep beneath that striped façade, She’s soft, despite her judgmental nod. She’ll curl beside you, purr, then nap Still silently judging, that sassy tabby cat.
