Gabby Cat wore a Cabbie cap and a Scottish vest.
He’d romp and play the day away and nary did he rest.
Perched for the kill, he’d wiggle his tail.
Targeting his prey, his strike wouldn’t fail.
Come early morning, he’d curtsy and 'bow like a prince.'
Outside at play, Gabby would come running under the fence.
He was a clever little cat, for he had lots of toys for play.
The best times were of evening by the hearth at the end of day.
Though cats have nine lives, seems ‘Gabby had only three.’
He kept me so amused, our lives were gay and fancy free.
The day old Gabby died, the angels came by and shed a tear.
Now and again I miss old Gabby for those fond times of cheer.
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