Black, sweet shy kitty-cat,
Who sleeps upon the swing,
Or in her porch-bed, curled,
But so alive for breakfast!

“Meeow! Meeow! Meeow!”
Wait till I open the door!
“Sure, sure, sure,” she purrs,
Bolting in for the bowl that’s hers!

Black loves Bob and Linda—
In the winter, when it’s cold,
Or at least pretends to
When she ducks in for a warm caress.

In the summer, well,
She still loves breakfast!
And yet, when Linda calls, “Black!”
Black’s eyes intensify
With quiet, shy, loved cat’s love.

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