The tiger puts her catsuit on when she gets out of bed at night:
Her whiskers curled and polished are; her teeth are sharp; her eyes are bright.
From tip of nose to twitch of tail she gleams and is immaculate;
With golden bars and stripes of black, her pace is poised and accurate.
Through jungle shades she struts her stuff, with switch of hips and swish of tail,
While in her mind the flashbulbs pop, and fashion correspondents wail
And dote upon her – Supermog! The acme of the fashion scene!
Even the pesky Bandar-log stop and admire the catwalk queen.