I was in the shower, singing about the tigers that come at night and reflecting on Arwen’s latest attack on my toes when I remembered this poem I wrote a couple years ago. That particular tiger was far less painful than the kitten.
There’s a tiger on my toes,
I’m scared it will bite my feet.
I was sleeping beneath the stars
and now a tiger wants to eat.
I want to call for Mom,
but I think it fell asleep.
Maybe it won’t eat me
if I don’t move or make a peep.
I’d like to shift my foot,
but I may have felt a claw.
Will it wake the creature up
if I jostle its mighty paw?
As I lie awake in fear,
I reach to touch its fur.
I can feel the furball shift
and unleash a massive purr.
There’s a Tiger on my toes,
he sleeps there every night.
But when I’m half asleep
he gives me such a fright.