When Thomas Wakes The Night

I love my noble pussy cat,

     He is so shiny black;

He follows me around the farm

     Or perches on my back,

And when the winter evenings come

     He curls up in my lap,

As though he owned me, heart and soul,

     And has a quiet nap.

Within he is the soul of grace,

     And modest through and through;

He takes but what is rightly his

     Though dainties were in view.

Till bedtime Thomas is a prize

     And does but what is right;

But, O the change that cometh hence

     When Thomas wakes the night.

Transformed into a fiend at large,

     Whose voice is weird and wild,

He prowls about the darkened ways

     A very demon’s child.

No pleas or threats, or moving things

     Shied far beyond my sight,

Can cease those awful cata-wauls

     When Thomas wakes the night.

My neighbors, aye, they bring complaints –

     I tell them ‘tisn’t he,

But some strange cat who’s trespassing

     Upon my property.

They swear to hunt the savage down

     And finish him on sight;

And O, at times I tremble when

     My Thomas wakes the night.

I would not lose him for the world,

     He is so shiny black;

He follows me around the farm,

     Or perches on my back.

I’ve taught him many clever tricks,

     Which make a pretty sight;

But, O, I wish that I could teach

     Him not to wake the night!

Dec. 5, 1907