THE MISCHIEVOUS CAT.

LITTLE Pussy Pink-toes sat in the sun, Blinking, And thinking What next could be done? There wasn’t a mouse To be found in the house, Nor even a rat in the cellar—not one. And Pussy said, “Mi-ow! I wish I could find A nice bit of mischief just to my mind.” Around the corner came Johnny McGee, Aged four, And no more, Plump and rosy, and pleasant to see. Not a moment he tarried, But carefully carried A pitcher of milk for his grandmother’s tea. “Ho! ho!” cried the cat— “I’d like to taste that; I’ll frighten young Johnny, and then he will flee.” So this wicked pussy-cat quickly uprose, Raised her tail Like a sail, Showed the sharp claws in her little pink toes,— And grew bigger and bigger, A terrible figure— Poor Johnny was frightened, as you may suppose. And her tail, how it swelled— And her voice, how she yelled— ’Twas so dreadful that poor little Johnny stood there Quaking and shaking with fright and despair. Pussy’s hair stood right up—her eyes were so green— Her jaws, And her claws, Made the ugliest picture that ever was seen— “I’m afraid—of that cat—” sobbed Johnny—“boo-hoo!” Then down, with a smash, The pitcher went—crash! And poor Johnny McGee Had lost all the milk for his grandmother’s tea. So the milk was all spilled, and Pussy got none, Of course; She was cross, As she sat there washing her face in the sun. “Not even a taste Of that milk—what a waste!” “It wasn’t,” said Pussy, “the least bit of fun!”