Growley is a predator, a prowler, a sneak: He’ll nip you in the hand or neck, just to hear you shriek; He’ll claw you as he runs away, just for better speed — Not in fear or self-defense, he never has that need. Growley has a wide-eyed thirst or yen for ev’rything. D’you miss a dangle-y, a piece with cords or string? Then listen for the crunching, or tearing as he chews What used to be your object, past hope of further use. Growley is a climber and a jumper, never doubt; So please take care what fragile table items get left out. And mind that door! Unless you WANTED games of run-and-catch; Here’s a lad who seeks the other side of ev’ry hatch! But… Growley is a cuddler, a lover, and a flirt: He’ll pace your chest at midnight, to nestle on your shirt; He’ll roll onto his back to let you rub his belly, fain — And THEN the purring two-year-old will bite your hand again!
