James Whitcomb Riley
Find The Favorite - Poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Our three cats is Maltese cats,
An' they's two that's white,--
An' bofe of 'em's _deef_--an' that's
'Cause their _eyes_ ain't right.--
Uncle say that _Huxley_ say
Eyes of _white_ Maltese--
When they don't match thataway--
They're deef as you please!
_Girls, they_ like our white cats best,
'Cause they're white as snow,
Yes, an' look the stylishest--
But they're deef, you know!
They don't know their names, an' don't
Hear us when we call
'Come in, Nick an' Finn!'--they won't
Come fer us at all!
But our _other_ cat, _he_ knows
Mister Nick an' Finn,--
Mowg's _his_ name,--an' when _he_ goes
Fer 'em, they come in!
Mowgli's _all_ his name--the same
Me an' Muvver took
Like the Wolf-Child's _other_ name,
In 'The Jungul Book.'
I bet Mowg's the smartest cat
In the world!--_He's_ not
_White_, but mousy-plush, with that
Smoky gloss he's got!
All's got little bells to ring,
Round their neck; but none
Only Mowg _knows_ anything--
He's the only one!
I ist 'spect sometimes he hate
White cats' stupid ways:--
He won't hardly 'sociate
With 'em, lots o' days!
Mowg wants in where _we_ air,--well,
He'll ist take his paw
An' ist ring an' ring his bell
There till me er Ma
Er _some_body lets him in
Nen an' shuts the door.--
An', when he wants out ag'in,
Nen he'll ring some more.
Ort to hear our Katy tell!
She sleeps 'way up-stairs;
An' last night she hear Mowg's bell
Ringin' round _some_wheres...
Trees grows by her winder.--So,
She lean out an' see
Mowg up there, 'way out, you know,
In the clingstone-tree;--
An'-sir! he ist _hint_ an' _ring_,--
Till she ketch an' plat
Them limbs;--nen he crawl an' spring
In where Katy's at!
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