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
It rows quickly with four oars but never comes out from under his own roof. What is it?
For our ambrosia we were blessed, By Jupiter, with a sting of death. Though our might, to some is jest, We have quelled the dragon's breath. Who are we?
What always goes to bed with its shoes on?
Holding two swords and eight spears. Dressed in a cow-leather tunic. He peeks through a hole in the door.
They are many and one, they wave and they drum, Used to cover a state, they go with you everywhere.