Oh, Happy Existence
The tom cat walketh on the fence
And calleth to his mate;
Oh, would that he would hie him hence
When he has got a date.
He cometh when my eyelids close,
To keep his moonlit tryst,
And rouses me from my sweet repose,
To pray that he’ll desist
’Tis true the tom cat grieves me sore
When he doth prowl around;
But would that I, like he, got more
Of those long evenings out.
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