Ben King's Verse/That Cat

The cat that comes to my window sill When the moon looks cold and the night is still-- He comes in a frenzied state alone With a tail that stands like a pine tree cone, And says: "I have finished my evening lark, And I think I can hear a hound dog bark. My whiskers are froze 'nd stuck to my chin. I do wish you'd git up and let me in." That cat gits in.

But if in the solitude of the night He doesn't appear to be feeling right, And rises and stretches and seeks the floor, And some remote corner he would explore, And doesn't feel satisfied just because There's no good spot for to sharpen his claws, And meows and canters uneasy about Beyond the least shadow of any doubt That cat gits out.