THE CATS.

HEAR the warbling of the cats— Merry cats! Oh, I love to hear the music of their midnight nightly spats! And they waltz around and frisk all, In the icy air of night, In a way so weird and brisk all, While their shapely tails they wisk all With a Cataline delight— Keeping time with their tails, Like a lot of Runic flails, To the concat-cantentation, sung in sundry sharps and flats, Of a canticle on rats, Rats, rats, rats, Rats— To a wild carnivorous canticle on rats! Hear the turbulent Tom cats, Daddy cats! How the catapultic bootjack interrupts their fiendish chats! In the darkness of the night, How their ghoulish outcries smite Portland flats! From their catacoustic throats An intense Cataphonic ditty floats To the turtle cat that gloats On the fence!— Ah, the tabby cat that listens, while she gloats, To the surging cataclysm of their wild, catarrhal notes! Hear the hoarse grandfather cats— Aged cats! How they make us long to grasp a score of rattling good brickbats! They have caught a bad catarrh, Caterwauling at the moon! (See it? Caught a bad cat R!) You may hear them from afar, Roll it like a British R, Out of tune. In a clamorous appealing to the aged tabby cat, In a futile, mad appealing to the deaf, old tabby cat! Shrieking higher, higher, higher, Like a demon in a fire— While the little kitten cats— Infant cats— Sing an emulous, sweet ditty of their love for mice and rats? That’s But a rudimental spasm of the capers of the cats!