The Mischief Maker

Stealthily, he creeps across the wooden floor,
Quickly sneaking, through all the doors.
Leaping on the sofa,
Jumping on the desk,
He dives into the milk bowl and makes a mess.

Hiding as he scuttles off,
Leaving filthy trails,
Changing his shining coat,
And looking like an ugly goat.

Through the doors I come,
Staring into space,
With my mouth ajar,
He’s the little mischief maker,
My pet rat Quaker.