That funny, old cat at my house,
Still thinks she is a kitten,
She doesn't seem to understand,
With old age she has been smitten.
She flings herself upon the floor,
Upon her aging back,
She rolls over with her tummy up,
Her message is, "Now scratch."
If I follow her instructions,
I find my scratching hand is clasped,
By four, furry, feline paws,
That reach out, and up, and grasp.
When I take my other hand
To rub her shoulder blade,
My first hand is then released,
But I can't pull the second hand away.
She doesn't care which hand she has,
She loves this little game,
I am the only one, it seems,
In risk of being maimed.
She's such a funny, little cat,
I doubt she will grow up
Her antics still remain the same,
Though, I fear she has slowed up.
I don't think I will tell her,
She's not a kitten any more,
We keep each other feeling young,
I guess that's what we're for.