Country Cat
Not too hard, the life of a cat,
when the country is where
the cat`s living at.
I do my own thing
and soon you`ll see why.
The air here is clean --
land big as the sky.
Let me tell you about it
`fore the day passes by.
So here is the story:
My life as a cat,
of mousing and frogging
and cat things like that,
of rolling in catnip
and climbing in trees,
of battling butterflies,
spiders and bees,
of snoozing in sunshine
and snoozing in shade,
and snoozing in haystacks
the farmer has made.
There`s planting and plowing
and reaping what is sown.
We cats do none of that.
We just go with the flow.
It`s not that I`m lazy
with zero to do,
but it`s crazy to work
when you don`t have to.
The first thing I do
after waking from dreams
of birds and of mice
and of saucers of cream,
is to hop on the counter
and patiently mew;
I attend to my manners
so I`m sure to get through.
I try to be seen.
It`s important. It`s true,
I like the attention.
Most country cats do.
When I`m on the table,
the couch, or the chair,
people can pet me,
and that`s why I`m there.
(I am a great mouser--
the barter seems fair.)
For breakfast I sit
on the steps, or the table,
the sofa, the rug,
anywhere I am able,
`til the woman will feed me
fine hummingbird livers
or chicken and dumplings
or wild pheasant gizzards,
or maybe just tuna,
or even some chow
made just for us cats
at the mill in the town.
Food from a can
will do me just fine,
but fresh fish and caviar
is the right way to dine.
When the eating is over,
and during my bath
on the sill in the sun
where there`s never a draft,
it`s my pleasure to measure
the bird in the cage
that the little girl keeps.
It`s been here for days—
Sometimes I sneak up
when I know it`s not looking,
then leap out abruptly. . .
(Get the idea?)
It`s ready for cooking.
Not that I`m vicious
or wicked or evil--
birds are noteworthy creatures.
I`d like a whole tree full.
Yes, the best thing to see
is a bird in a tree.
That`s where birds belong,
flying, and free,
grabbable,
snaggable,
snatchable,
catchable,
free!
They look wonderfully safe
way up high in the air,
chirping and chanting
with rarely a care.
Between you and me,
more often then not,
a bird in the paw
is a bird that you got,
and when cats do the catching,
it`s birds that get caught.
But soon, with this bird
in its cage, I am done.
The truth is, my chances
are probably none
of unlatching and catching
the sweet little tweet,
so I`m off to the farm yard
where the living is sweet.
The tall grass is grand
when you`re stalking your prey.
Hidden from view
is the best way to play.
I spend most of the morning
hiding in weeds,
waiting for critters
that come here to feed.
At times it`s a waste
of an hour or more,
but a small friendly face
is a face I adore.
It`s not that I mean
to cause critters alarm,
or that I intend
to do them some harm,
but this is my job,
and this is my farm.
And startling small critters
is part of my charm.
Things to watch out for,
like it or not,
are the bees with their stings,
which can hurt quite a lot.
I just let them buzz,
buzz buzz all they want.
There are things on this farm
that are safer to hunt.
Once, as a kitten,
I played near a hive.
If it weren`t for the barn,
I might not be alive!
The barn on a farm
is a good place to hide.
To make life easier
watch out for bees.
They live in the ground
and they live in the trees.
They do make fine honey
and pollinate flowers,
but you never, no never
want one in your trousers.
I like to spend time
going over the hill
to the edge of the pond
where I visit Phil.
Once he was a tadpole,
now he eats flies--
Phil`s been a frog
for most of his life.
Phil is a friend
to all creatures around--
those who swim in the water
or walk on the ground.
If you find your way here
to fish or to boat, say,
"Hello, Country Frog,"
and wait for his croak:
"I love the country" and
"I love to float"
is what Phil is saying.
I never misquote.
Yes, I`m a country cat
and have lots of friends.
That`s `cause I`m friendly!
A country cat tends
to have lots of pals
that are tabbies and tigers,
pouncers and growlers
and prowlers and fighters.
Most cats are family
that live at this place.
So most of my pals
have close to the same face.
Best of them all
is my dear friend Lucille.
She`s dainty and delicate
dressed in chenille.
(The girl is the one
who dresses her up.
Lucille`s patient and tolerant,
all of that stuff.)
But her beauty most shines
when she`s wearing what`s hers.
Right now Lucille`s wearing
her favorite fur,
which is also my favorite.
It most becomes her.
So, places to go,
and friends all around,
the creatures and critters
and hillsides, the pond,
the barn and the kitchen,
the farmer, the wife,
their daughter, her bird,
and fresh air, are my life. . .
and always adventure
just right out of sight.
This is my story,
the life of a cat,
when the country is where
the cat`s living at.
Country cat living`s
the best all around.
You can trust me.
I`ve heard of the town.
It`s nice there,
it`s bright there,
it`s full of commotion.
But the country`s the place
that commands my devotion.
My story is finished,
the telling`s been fun—
a country cat always sleeps
under the sun
when it sets in the west,
and that`s happening now.
It`s beautiful, isn`t it?
You can see how
I came to love life here
with sheep, horse, and cow.
This country cat thanks you--
and bids you
Meow.
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