THE FATE OF A BLACK CAT.
By Gardner Minard, Jr.
Out on a lawn by a village street an old cat sat one day,
And there he sat till the dreary night, then sung a mournful lay.
The wan, old moon rose quickly up, a gentle zephyr blew;
The flowers that were on the lawn were soaking wet with dew.
Up on the fence the old cat got, and sang a doleful song:
He hadn't been there very long when a black cut came along.
A conversation followed then between the two old cats,
While through the darkness of the night came flying boots and bats.
The black cat spit in the other's face, up went the other's back,
And just us they were going to fight there came a rifle crack.
Who fired it I cannot say, for he went back to bed,
And a when the morning sun shone out, there lay the black cat dead.