That is the Kitten,
The one in black
That you see at the back,
Whose heart was smitten
(For kittens have hearts
As well as brains
And other parts,
For pleasures and pains)--
Was smitten, I say,
On a sunshiny day,
By a callow chicken,
And made a picking
Of the chicken’s bones
Out there, on the stones,
To the great disgust
Of the mother Hen,
Who came up then,
When the feast was ended,
And the undefended
Fowl just swallowed!
And the Hen was followed
By the Cock well-grown,
Who seemed disgusted
That the Hen had trusted
The chicken alone.
It was on the next day
That the Cat did essay
To visit the place
Of this disgrace,
In search of a chicken
Again for picking;
But now the Cock,
As firm as a rock,
Beholding the Kitten,
With rage was smitten,
And stuck out his chest,
And set up his crest,
And crowed defiance,
Like an army of lions,
To the Kitten who there,
With his tail in the air,
Saw that the hens,--
Three in number,--
Were not in slumber,
And so had the sense
To take his departure,
Like the arrow of an archer
Swift from a bow,
And left the Cock,
As firm as a rock,
To ruffle and crow,
All under the door,
As we said before,
With nothing to tire him,
And the hens to admire him.
In a corner was sitting
Another Kitten,
White, not black,
Who heard the clack,
And knowing the story
Of the chicken gory,
And, seeing the Cock
Defying the other
(It was her brother!)
Had trepidations
And meditations
About taking chickens,
And such, for pickings.
But cats will be cats
The whole world long!