A sonnet by a toddler to a cat

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate
Rough hands do grab the ginger coat
And yet thou seldom scratch nor bite
Sometime too fast the white feet do run
And often is thou gold complexion timid
Yet when I catch the fluffy tail of thine  
By chance or when thou least suspect my hand
Thou tolerate the pulling that mum forbade  
I hold close possession of thou fair fur
Nor shall I relinquish the grip soon
When in a cosy basket thou dost doze
So long as I can reach the swishing tip
Thou cannot rest for fear I shall catch thee

(nb: toddlers have a patchy grasp of iambic pentameter)