I am the eight hundred pound gorilla here
And I sit wherever I want.
However, it does me little good, I fear.
Other diners edge their chairs away
Although my fur is brushed, my molars gleam,
Claws sheathed and trimmed — they have little to say.
I cannot join in their chatter, nor hold a fork,
And I have a strong suspicion they
Are sniggering at me as they steal a glance,
Understandably nervous, pale faces grey.
I am the eight hundred pound gorilla here
And I sit wherever I want.