It was a little captive cat Upon a crowded train. His mistress takes him from his box To ease his fretful pain. She holds him tight upon her knee, The graceful animal, And all the people look at him— He is so beautiful. But oh, he pricks and oh, he prods, And turns upon her knee. Then lifteth up his innocent voice In plaintive melody. He lifteth up his innocent voice, He lifteth up, he singeth, And to each human countenance A smile of grace he bringeth. He lifteth up his innocent paw Upon her breast he clingeth, And everybody cries, “Behold! The cat, the cat that singeth.” He lifteth up his innocent voice, He lifteth up, he singeth, And all the people warm themselves In the love his beauty bringeth.
