Seven stories high,
And you upset the boss?
So from a high-rise balcony,
T’was you he threatened to toss.

You ate his sandwich tuna,
When he turned his back,
But today you are much the wiser,
Since he cut you a little slack.

The kids call you Puska,
You’re a dashing sorta’ cat,
Living in a Darwin high-rise,
A type of Aristo”cat”.

You’ve used eight of your nine lives,
That’s a nightmare for a cat,
So keep out of the family kitchen,
Lest you be fat, flat and splat.

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