Cats Poem by Ray Andrews

They move with stealth and cunning
Claws hidden but ready for fight
They can pounce on their game any old time
But prefer the hunt of the night

Their teeth are sharpened and ready
But they like to toy with their game
Their victims are given a drubbing
The result is always the same

Their eyes are pools of chemistry
That see what man cannot see
Their reflexes are fine tuned pianos
Playing age old symphonies

Fickle lovers-it's hard to know
Whether you're wrong or right
A rub on the chin or a stroke on the head
Might lead to a snub or a fight

History teaches to have just one
For reasons of clarity
To love several women at the same time
May lead to insanity