My cat is a mystery that intrigues my mind.
He's sometimes aloof, but never unkind.
He'll roll on the floor in a great ball of fur, 
Then bathe all his bits while he preens and he purrs.

Sometimes, when he plays, I know just what he thinks.  
He's king of the jungle and he stalks those that drink 
From the watering hole on the African plain.  
He wags his long tail and shakes his great mane, 
Then leaps at my ankles to take down his prey.  

His next favorite thing is a spot in the sun.
He curls up and he sleeps
Too tired to run
After antelopes, wildebeests, hippos and more. 
He yawns, turns three times and lies down on the floor.

My king of all cats, too small to be great,
Has huge eyes that see through me and all I create.  
Nothing can escape him, no sigh, no sad look.  
My cat knows my mind like he's reading a book.  

If I'm feeling sad, just the smallest bit blue,
He jumps on my lap, spins a circle or two, 
Kneads his paws, blinks his eyes and before he is through,
That magical purr, music to my ears,
Wafts in the air and then disappears.  

His purr, what a sound, it's delicious to me, 
Inspiring, soothing, calming as can be.
It's no simple thing to elicit that purr,
It's a gift all wrapped up in grey and white fur.