The Mighty Hoover*

When it wanders o'er the floor
It makes the most God awful roar.
There it sits, the mighty Hoover,
In the corner, that fearful mover.
Up stalks tiny Pippin cat,
His shoulders down on carpet mat,
Until he's close enough to spring,
Then out come claws and everything.
He lands just right, and knocks it flat
It crashes down and goes ker-splat!
And after running off in fear,
He once again approaches near.
He sits upon the fallen beast,
He's killed it dead. What a feast
He has provided for his clan.
Ah, heroic Pippin, my kitten man

* A poem written for Maya when the Hooligans were about four months old.