Thomas Puss-Cat
Has made a bet
About his breakfast
To be served fast.
Otherwise
He doesn’t deny
A violent rupture
Of the furniture.
Or, what is worse,
Of wall-paper, of course
In pursue of winter flies
Invisible to one’s eyes.
Or, better still,
On the windowsill
There is a plant,
And so he can’t
Help withstanding
Your misunderstanding
Of his intention
On the intervention
Onto the mentioned plant
That should be a grant
As the implication
Of his winter salad ration