There he was laid sleeping,
all curled up in a ball.
His tail tucked in, nose buried,
we stood watching from the hall.

The tiny little breaths he took,
the twitching of his ears,
all the while, still sleeping
yet still wakeful through his fears.

He hardly moved a muscle
as my hand slipped underneath.
I scooped him up, he purred at me,
not once did bear his teeth.

Still sleepy-eyed and groggy,
nose twitched to catch my scent.
A paw reached out and touched my nose,
I sighed and off we went.

As days went by his character
came shining through and through.
Not the ever sleepy kitten
we thought we loved and knew.

Wide awake and playful,
and with mischief on his mind.
If there wasn't trouble close enough,
off he'd go to find.

A one-eyed queen is sport, it seems,
for a moggy such as he.
He'll block her path and steal her food,
and do it all so regally.

He does still purr when cuddled,
though his claws defy the sound.
He'll sit and whip his tail
'til he's set back on the ground.

But on an odd occasion,
in the fur-flown aftermath,
the pic comes out, the gloves come off,
he's reminded of 'The Bath'.

But for all his pride and swagger,
the sport he thinks such joy,
he's always been and always will,
my little baby boy.