Stalking Stockings

I know not where my prey will hide.

They are a sneaky sort.

They lurk about ‘most anywhere,

With humanly transport.

*

My mother’s socks all smell like her,

All powdery and nice.

But Father’s are malodorous.

I rarely catch them twice.

*

Yes, some are tough, but I don’t care.

I’ll stalk them anyway.

And though I teach them how to fight,

They rarely want to play.

*

Still, when I’ve got them, it’s game on,

My front paws hold on tight.

And then my back paws go to town.

I kick with all my might.

*

Now, some are long and some are short.

It matters not to me.

I’ll keep pursuing ‘til I thwart

The final escapee.