![]() Fiesta, the Party CatA Poem by Bob BFiesta is the party cat. She won't play second fiddle; Whenever there's a party going on, She is smack in the middle.
Shrimp cocktail and salmon croquettes-- That's what she prefers. Don't abandon your plate or else Fiesta thinks it's hers.
"A lot of cats are skittish," she says, "And thus they have a bad rap. I, on the other hand, don't mind Sitting on anyone's lap.
"Of course, I have an ulterior motive That guests don't always see. When I give them attention, there's always Something in it for me.
"When caviar is served, you'll find me Walking on a cloud. I must apply all of my charm To butter up the crowd.
"I love it when guests rub my tummy And tickle me under the chin. When I smell clam dip on their fingers, My head starts to spin!
"I must admit I have no patience For guests who shout, 'Achoo!' And then stentoriously blow their nose And rudely tell me, 'Shoo!'
"The nerve of them to stifle my pleasure! For me, goal number one Is to enjoy each precious moment-- To live means having fun!"
As soon as the dancing begins, Fiesta Finds a safe location Far away from dancing feet, For height is her limitation.
Fiesta waits to hear the hosts Say, "Let's go to bed. We can clean up the mess tomorrow." Then she raises her head.
With everybody gone there's no one There to scold or berate her. She can survey each bowl and plate To see what treasures await her.
"Sally Bowles was right," she says; "Life is a cabaret! Why can't my servants put on A party every day?"
She eats till her stomach is ready to burst, Heedless of any warning. Everyone wonders why she is so Listless in the morning.
-by Bob B (2-14-20) © 2020 Bob B
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