A Modest Cat's Soliloquy

Far down within the damp dark earth

The grimy miner goes

That I on chilly nights may have

A fire to warm my toes;

Brave sailors plough the wintry main

Through peril and mishap,

That I, on Oriental rugs

May take my morning nap.

Our in the distant meadow

Meekly gaze the lowing kine,

That milk in endless saucerfuls,

All foaming, may be mine;

The fish that swim the ocean

And the birds that fill the air--

Did I not like to pick their bones,

Pray, think you they'd be there?