Under a spreading Christmas tree
The village kitty lies;
The kitty, mighty cat is he,
With large and glaring eyes;
The talons of his furry paws
Are sharp as kitchen knives.
His hair is thick, and orange, and long;
His face is rather tan.
His tongue is wet; he won’t forget
To lick his owner’s hand.
And also licks the same one’s face,
For to lick he thinks is grand.
Week in, week out, from morn ’til night,
You can hear his vig’rous purr;
Can hear his little kitty bell
Whenever he does stir.
He slinks around his owner’s house
And loves his owner well.
And children coming home from school
Look in at open door;
They love to see his glaring eyes
And hear his mighty purr,
And watch as he does stretch and turn
And lick is lengthy fur.
He won’t go Sunday to the church,
For it is not too near;
He’ll miss the preaching, and the choir —
His meowing would cause fear.
But singing in the village choir
His owners do with cheer.
Rolling — stretching — yawning,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees the food put out,
Each evening sees it go;
Something eaten, something caught,
He’s earned his night’s repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy cat,
For lessons thou has taught!
If I could sit around all day,
I hope I’d not be caught!
I better not so lazy be
Or poor will be my lot.
[With apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]
clarakatalin 
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