A flick of his whisker A blink of his eye You pick at a biscuit And prepare to die. You begin to wonder as he cradles his cup Will he nibble politely Or gobble you up. Will he lick his whiskers With his sandpaper tongue Or dab neatly with a napkin When his meal is done. Will he politely request You tip your head to the right So he can finish you off Without any fight. Will he go quick Or take it slow When you have tea with a tiger It’s so hard to know.