A Cat's Birthday Celebration
by Mrs. Gertrude Manly Jones
A KITTY named Pollie - just over the way -
Gave a party last week on her second birthday.
It was - so I've heard - quite a stylish affair,
For the cat elite of the village was there.
For a week the party was meowed about,
After the neat invitations were out;
"What shall I wear?" was a question oft asked,
And for some little time the kitties harassed;
At last they decided, without a demur,
That because of cool weather, they'd all dress in fur.
In the meanwhile, Pollie was burdened with care
To get up a fine supper, and nice bill of fare.
There were grasshopper croquets and truffles to make;
A lot of fat lizards to stuff and to bake;
There were mice, to be fricasseed, parboiled and stewed,
And strong catnip bouillon, and punch to be brewed -
Oh, my! Was there ever before a gray cat
Who had such a weight on her shoulders as that?
But at last the eventful evening came 'round,
And everything was quite in readiness found.
In the old kitchen garden the table was set,
And a funnier table you never saw yet;
The tea cups were egg shells; and turnip green plates
Were loaded with savory messes and baits;
A large rutabaga was hollowed out clean,
And made quite an excellent bouillon tureen;
The table was trimmed up with beet leaves and mint,
And festoons of parsley were used without stint.
As the clock struck midnight, the guests all poured in.
And you never did hear such a horrible din!
The old cornstalk fiddles set up a full blast,
And partners for quadrilles were taken up fast.
How the feet and the tails did fly in the air!
How the sparks glinted off from the soft glossy hair!
Some cats promenaded; others, played the coquette,
While a pair on the fencetop struck up a duet;
The ball had now reached its dizziest height,
When from a near cottage, there flashed a bright light;
A window was hastily raised with a bang,
And a pistol-shot out through the old garden rang.
I tell you the sound of that ringing report
Put an end to the dancing, the singing and sport.
The beaux - why, they went just tearing off home,
And left the young kitties to come on alone.
Kittie Pollie was very much chagrined about
The way her grand entertainment turned out,
And although she certainly was not to blame,
She declares she will never give parties again.
Gave a party last week on her second birthday.
It was - so I've heard - quite a stylish affair,
For the cat elite of the village was there.
For a week the party was meowed about,
After the neat invitations were out;
"What shall I wear?" was a question oft asked,
And for some little time the kitties harassed;
At last they decided, without a demur,
That because of cool weather, they'd all dress in fur.
In the meanwhile, Pollie was burdened with care
To get up a fine supper, and nice bill of fare.
There were grasshopper croquets and truffles to make;
A lot of fat lizards to stuff and to bake;
There were mice, to be fricasseed, parboiled and stewed,
And strong catnip bouillon, and punch to be brewed -
Oh, my! Was there ever before a gray cat
Who had such a weight on her shoulders as that?
But at last the eventful evening came 'round,
And everything was quite in readiness found.
In the old kitchen garden the table was set,
And a funnier table you never saw yet;
The tea cups were egg shells; and turnip green plates
Were loaded with savory messes and baits;
A large rutabaga was hollowed out clean,
And made quite an excellent bouillon tureen;
The table was trimmed up with beet leaves and mint,
And festoons of parsley were used without stint.
As the clock struck midnight, the guests all poured in.
And you never did hear such a horrible din!
The old cornstalk fiddles set up a full blast,
And partners for quadrilles were taken up fast.
How the feet and the tails did fly in the air!
How the sparks glinted off from the soft glossy hair!
Some cats promenaded; others, played the coquette,
While a pair on the fencetop struck up a duet;
The ball had now reached its dizziest height,
When from a near cottage, there flashed a bright light;
A window was hastily raised with a bang,
And a pistol-shot out through the old garden rang.
I tell you the sound of that ringing report
Put an end to the dancing, the singing and sport.
The beaux - why, they went just tearing off home,
And left the young kitties to come on alone.
Kittie Pollie was very much chagrined about
The way her grand entertainment turned out,
And although she certainly was not to blame,
She declares she will never give parties again.
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