Two weeks after coming he’s up on the couch
Marching across to claim his due in this house.
He struggles cross the pan edge to get to the litter
And his business when done makes no dent to consider.

And on me, the source from which all the food flows,
He concentrates: where I go he knows
And determines to follow, to the kitchen or past
The cardboard door-barriers that he batters flat,
But for all other needs he employs on each paw
The ultimate commander-Sir Kitten’s Own Claw.