(Hal Summers)
My old cat is dead,
Who would butt me with his head.
He had the sleekest fur.
He had the loudest purr.
Always gentle with us,
Was this black puss,
But when I found him today
Stiff and cold where he lay,
His look was a lion's,
Full of rage and defiance;
Oh, he would not pretend
That what came was a friend
But met it in pure hate.
Well died, my old cat.
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