  On a dreadful stormy night My dear Tommy had a fight With great Peter Snookum Snee, Cat of fighting pedigree. In this battle, sad to tell, My poor Tom, alas, he fell, Ending thus his earthly life Through the wicked God of Strife. On the next night while in bed, Sleepless and with aching head, For my Tom, my precious pet, My poor eyes with tears were wet. Suddenly his voice I heard, And in ghostly whispers purred, "I am coming, mistress, dear, "Good cat heaven have I left, I would comfort you, bereft For your precious Tommy pet, I would teach you not to fret. "Do you hear me in the hall With my ghostly soft footfall? Up the stairs I bound to thee, Jumping steps from one to three. "Now my paw is on your door, I turn the knob one-two-three-four, And you may see your Tommy now— Me-ow! Me-ow! Me-ow! ow! ow!" |
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