Answer:
It is a cat but not a kitty, You'll never catch on in a city. Its fangs are huge and so its claws, A death machine with paws and jaws. In its own way a royal fellow, Striped with black and clothed in yellow
What did the bee say to the flower?
In all the world, none can compare, to this tiny weaver, his deadly cloth so silky and fair.
While I did live, I food did give, which many one did daily eat. Now being dead, you see they tread me under feet about the street.
It rows quickly with four oars but never comes out from under his own roof. What is it?
I flow from the Homer’s mouth when he sees doughnuts.