Isis Town and Country - - Opinion - By NANCE BUR­NETT

He suns him­self on green lawns cropped.

On hu­mid days he seeks the shade.

His ev­ery thought on com­fort stayed;

His cup of leisure al­ways topped.

His de­spair when the girl he owns

Goes down to shop at the lo­cal store

And he, with heart that burns to the core,

Then sits and watches, wails and moans.

She picks him up when she comes back

And sounds of en­gines through his fur

Then tell her he loves only her

And he rides high as King or Jack.

He now and then his mis­tress leaves

To court a lady fair and fine

Who’s coy, then taunts him by de­sign,

And tells him tales that he be­lieves.

Poor Louis! His lady-love has lured

Seven other schem­ing suit­ors;

Louis, and eight in all dis­put­ers.

Then Louis leaves and swears he’s cured.

He, home for sym­pa­thy ar­rives,

His tabby hide all scratched and sore.

He swears he’ll not go back for more

And risk again his whole nine lives.

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