After the milking's done, Farmer gone to house and bed, Rag-tag tabbies, half-breed furs, Assemble by the milking stool Yowl a bit, then settle down to purrs. Rosined up, a straw-***** bow Emits a violinic fiddle's skirl, And one by one the mousers Stand on twos to take a matted floor.
Come, let us see you pirouette, You puissant pouncers. Lightly spin those furry toes; Sheath deep those claws to put Perfection in your prances; Balance on your tails, and spin; Exercise or exorcise in cattish dances The feline feelings you are in.
Dance happily and furiously... Or sinuously and slow... Whatever moods mouse- Murderers can feel or know. Enjoy the dance, ye half-breed cats. Never mind the jealous schemes of mice, Nor terroristic plots of leagues of rats.