Whose cat this is I think I know,
His house is in the desert though.
He will not mind me stooping here,
To scratch His cat behind each ear.
The little cat must think it queer,
To feel a human hand come near,
Ruffling the fur on his curved back,
The brightest, hottest day of the year.
He gives his ringed tail a shake,
Purring is there some mistake?
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of desert breeze across a dry lake.
The cat becomes a mountain steep,
Drifting, dreaming back to sleep.
Remembering promises to keep,
Away I creep, away I creep.