Classic Poem

The tale is of the Tiger and his Aunt, who is the Cat:
They dwelt among the jungles in the shade of Ararat.
The Cat was very clever, but the Tiger, he was slow;
He couldn't catch the Nilghau nor the heavy Buffalo;
His claws were long and pointed, but his wit was short and blunt;
He begged his Wise Relation to instruct him how to hunt.

The Cat on velvet pattens stole along the quiet hill:
" Now this, " she whispered, " Nephew, is the way to stalk your Kill. "
The Cat drew up her haunches on the mossy forest couch:
" And this, " she said, " my Nephew, is the proper way to crouch. "
She hurtled through the shadows like a missile from a sling:
" And that, my loving Nephew, is the only way to spring! "

Oh, hungry was the Nephew, and the Aunt was sleek and plump;
The Tiger at his Teacher made his first apprentice Jump;
He did it very ably, but the Cat, more quick than he,
Escaped his clutching talons and ran up a cedartree,
And purred upon the Snarler from the bough on which she sat,
" How glad I am, my Nephew, that I didn't teach you that! "
And, since that Curtailed Lesson in the Rudiments of Crime,
The most ambitious Tiger hasn't learned the way to climb.