Fiesta is the party cat.
She won't play second fiddle;
Whenever there's a party going on,
She is smack in the middle.

Shrimp cocktail and salmon croquettes--
That's what she prefers.
Don't abandon your plate or else
Fiesta thinks it's hers.

"A lot of cats are skittish," she says,
"And thus they have a bad rap.
I, on the other hand, don't mind
Sitting on anyone's lap.

"Of course, I have an ulterior motive
That guests don't always see.
When I give them attention, there's always
Something in it for me.

"When caviar is served, you'll find me
Walking on a cloud.
I must apply all of my charm
To butter up the crowd.

"I love it when guests rub my tummy
And tickle me under the chin.
When I smell clam dip on their fingers,
My head starts to spin!

"I must admit I have no patience
For guests who shout, 'Achoo!'
And then stentoriously blow their nose
And rudely tell me, 'Shoo!'

"The nerve of them to stifle my pleasure!
For me, goal number one
Is to enjoy each precious moment--
To live means having fun!"

As soon as the dancing begins, Fiesta
Finds a safe location
Far away from dancing feet,
For height is her limitation.

Fiesta waits to hear the hosts
Say, "Let's go to bed.
We can clean up the mess tomorrow."
Then she raises her head.

With everybody gone there's no one
There to scold or berate her.
She can survey each bowl and plate
To see what treasures await her.

"Sally Bowles was right," she says;
"Life is a cabaret!
Why can't my servants put on
A party every day?"

She eats till her stomach is ready to burst,
Heedless of any warning.
Everyone wonders why she is so
Listless in the morning.

-by Bob B (2-14-20)