The Mysterious Cat

A chant for a children's pantomime dance, suggested by a picture painted by George Mather Richards.


    I saw a proud, mysterious cat,
    I saw a proud, mysterious cat
    Too proud to catch a mouse or rat -
    Mew, mew, mew.

    But catnip she would eat, and purr,
    But catnip she would eat, and purr.
    And goldfish she did much prefer -
    Mew, mew, mew.

    I saw a cat - 'twas but a dream,
    I saw a cat - 'twas but a dream
    Who scorned the slave that brought her cream -
    Mew, mew, mew.

    Unless the slave were dressed in style,
    Unless the slave were dressed in style
    And knelt before her all the while -
    Mew, mew, mew.

    Did you ever hear of a thing like that?
    Did you ever hear of a thing like that?
    Did you ever hear of a thing like that?
    Oh, what a proud mysterious cat.
    Oh, what a proud mysterious cat.
    Oh, what a proud mysterious cat.
    Mew... mew... mew.

Vachel Lindsay

Vachel Lindsay was an American poet known for his innovative performances of his poetry, which combined spoken word with music and theatrics. Born in Springfield, Illinois, Lindsay's work often revolved around American history and culture, reflecting his progressive social views. He played a significant role in the early 20th-century American poetry scene, influencing contemporaries and later poets with his dynamic style and passionate delivery.

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English

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Sad Memories.

They tell me I am beautiful: they praise my silken hair,
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The Boston Cats

A Little Cat played on a silver flute,
    And a Big Cat sat and listened;
The Little Cat's strains gave the Big Cat pains,
    And a tear on his eyelid glistened.

Then the Big Cat said, "Oh, rest awhile;"
    But the Little Cat said, "No, no;
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    And the Big Cat answered, "Oh!

If you get pay for the tunes you play,
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    So I'll give you more to stop."

Said the Little Cat, "Hush! you make me blush;
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Though it's very, very hard to leave the back yard,
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The Cat And The Thrush.

A thrush that sang one rustic ode
Once made a garden his abode,
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He grew a special favourite.
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The ground about his lowly nest
Was undisturb'd by spade or hoe.
And yet his song was still the same;
It even grew somewhat more tame.
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Resolved that he should suffer yet,
And laid his plan of devastation
So as to save his reputation;
For, in the house, from looks demure,
He pass'd for honest, kind, and pure.
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He through the garden daily strolls,
And never seeks our thrush to catch;
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Miss Ediths Modest Request

My papa knows you, and he says youre a man who makes reading for books;
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Find The Favorite

Our three cats is Maltese cats,
    An' they's two that's white, -
An' bofe of 'em's deef - an' that's
    'Cause their eyes ain't right. -


Uncle say that Huxley say
    Eyes of white Maltese -
When they don't match thataway -
    They're deef as you please!

Girls, they like our white cats best,
    'Cause they're white as snow,
Yes, an' look the stylishest -
    But they're deef, you know!

They don't know their names, an' don't
    Hear us when we call
"Come in, Nick an' Finn!" - they won't
    Come fer us at all!

But our other cat, he knows
    Mister Nick an' Finn, -
Mowg's his name, - an' when he goes
    Fer 'em, they come in!

Mowgli's

James Whitcomb Riley

The Cats Have Come To Tea.

What did she see oh, what did she see,
As she stood leaning against the tree?
Why all the Cats had come to tea.

What a fine turn out from round about,
All the houses had let them out,
And here they were with scamper and shout.

"Mew mew mew!" was all they could say,
And, "We hope we find you well to-day."

Oh, what should she do oh, what should she do?
What a lot of milk they would get through;
For here they were with "Mew mew mew!"

She didn't know oh, she didn't know,
If bread and butter they'd like or no;
They might want little mice, oh! oh! oh!

Dear me oh, dear me,
All the cats had come to tea.

Kate Greenaway