Pop-pop, the Pajama Cat

He’s a pajama cat,

a bit saggy in the knees.

His middle’s kinda fat,

sneaking, eating too much cheese.

He’d look fine in a hat,

except cats do as they please,

so he’s more apt to chat

in dainty slippers, like these,

or sporting a cravat.

High fashion, in some countries.

*

He chases all the girls

but has hardly any luck,

though he dips and twirls.

He’s really not a hunk.

When they mock his neat curls

or when they’re quite clearly struck

by his string of rare pearls

he cries, then gets very drunk

and dances ‘til he hurls,

or his fancy pumps get stuck.

*

Sometimes he prowls around

clad in a grocery sack.

Sometimes worn like a crown,

or else Supercat attack.

He’s looking to astound

with his clever fashion hack.

He usually ends up bound

up in the sack, without much slack,

begging help from the hound

who frees him with a smack thwack.

*

To the friends in his head

he’s loyal when they’re in need.

He tucks them into bed,

he fulfills their every need.

He checks the mirror for Fred,

he pays for all their weed,

and gives them stuff to shred.

Pop Pop’s friends are real indeed,

at least that’s what he said

when he left in his best tweed.