Who?

Who always looks smart when she goes out night,

And wears a fur coat that fits just right?

Who always finds the cosiest spot,

And curls up in the shade, when the weather is hot?

Who sits up and begs, when there's shrimps for tea,

And cries out for help, when she's stuck up a tree?

Who's disappeared when the brigade arrives,

And who's reputed to have nine lives?

Who sits and meows, when she fancies some milk,

And who's claws get caught in delicate silk?

Who longs for a home infested with mice,

And won’t take a bath at any price?

Who gets more than her share of nights on the tiles,

And attracts all the tomcats, that live within miles?

Who seems to delight, in being chased by the boys,

That keep us awake with their unearthly noise?

Who loves paper moths, tied on a string,

And pictures a meal, when she hears birdies sing?

Who finds a soft spot in most people's hearts,

And washes with ease, those unreachable parts?

Who licks her paws to wash her face,

And climbs up a post at incredible pace?

Who immediately lays claim to each new empty box?

And who's fur when stroked, can sometimes give shocks,

Who will never take orders, but loves to be coaxed?

And will happily purr, till with dribble she's soaked,

Who lazes and sleeps, throughout most of the day?

And goes prowling all night, to keep vermin at bay,

Who's first in the queue, when the food's given out?

And who does her own thing, when the rest push her out,

Who sticks out her paw, past her feasting mates?

And grabs a great pawful, from each of their plates,

And never goes short, as a result of her tricks,

Gets as much if not more than the other six?

Who opens the front door, if it's not locked tight,

And lets out the dogs, in the dead of night?

Who's too proud to share, when she wants a drink,

But opens the bathroom, to drink in the sink?

Who lives in a home, shared with twenty dogs?

She's the cat we call Moggie, or more often just Moggs.
 
 

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