Sly is the  tuxedo cat
(Or so he thinks)
As to he sits so quietly
On the stool, watching  
with disinterest
(more correctly avid fascination) the  cooking of  the chicken strips
As he sits, as he watches,
one paw moves stealthily toward the pile of already
cooked chicken.
As all this happens
he moves his gaze
to the window and
chatters as if he has seen
a magpie bird
(His great nemesis).
When I also look
he makes
his penultimate move
swiping the raised paw
out to snag a couple of pieces
of chicken,
whilst readying
himself to dash away.
Bur alas, alack
no chicken to be had...
When I looked up
to sight the bird
(that was not there)
I moved the plate,
as we have
played this game before  
and I now win most every time
The little tuxedo cat
removes himself
from the field of play,
a distinct sense of  affront
in his walk.
He sits
a couple of metres away,
with his back to me
attending to
the cleanliness
of his nether regions
as I finish cooking
the family meal.
(Of which
a few scraps
of cooked chicken
are set aside forthe cat)