I was at an auction sale yesterday and was the winning bidder on some boxes of books. Vintage books. My favourites.
This version of The Three Little Kittens was in one of them. It's new to me and quite different from the Mother Goose version of Three Little Kittens. Not quite as warm and cuddly!
Knit, knit, knit, knit!
See old white-capped Pussy sit,
Fairly gray with worry and care,
In her little straight-backed rocking-chair!
Knit, knit, knit,
Till she is tired of it!
Why does she work so? Look and see,
There in the corner, children three!
Plump and furry and full of fun,
(A good -for-nothing is every one.)
And all those kittens
Must have mittens!
Weather is cold; and snow and sleet
Make it bad for their little feet;
And they dare not peep outside, because
Jack Frost stands ready to pinch their paws -
That's why she sits,
And knits, and knits.
If by any chance she drops her ball,
And if one of them chases it at all,
She peeps out over her glasses' rim
With a savage, dreadful scowl at him,
And cries out, "Scat,
You saucy cat!"
Or, if her long tail gets uncurled
And sways but the least bit in the world,
And one of them makes a roguish nip
At it, or plays at mouse with the tip,
Somebody hears
A loud boxed ears!
With them 'tis hurry-scurry and play,
Or sleep in a round coil half the day;
While, creakety-creak, the rockers go,
And the mittens grow, and grow, and grow,
So shapely and fast -
They are done at last!
She summons the kittens; each one stands
While the mittens are tried on his clumsy hands;
Then her glasses drop to the end of her nose,
And her wits go wandering off in a doze,
And as never before,
Does old Puss snore!
She is off to that dreamland paradise
Of cats, where cupboards are full of mice;
Where white and sweet and big as the sea
Are the saucers of warm new milk - ah me,
There is no cream
Like that in a dream!
There the ways of things are very absurd;
For a bobolink, or a yellow bird,
Comes of its own accord, and sits
On every knitting needle that knits,
And pipes and sings,
As the rocker swings.
Suddenly there is a noise of feet -
Rattle and clatter and patter and beat!
Old Puss makes a flying leap from her chair,
With a half-awake and startled stare,
Striving to see
What it may be.
Helter-skelter the kittens appear;
"Oh, mother, dear, we very much fear
That we have lost our mittens!" they cry.
"You have? Then you shall have no pie!
Lost your mittens?
You naughty kittens!"
Old mother Puss is dreadfully cross,
At the spoiled dream first, then at the loss;
And with floods of tears down either cheek
Each frightened kitten tries to speak:
"Miew, miew, miew!
Miew, miew, miew!"
A smart cuff over their little brains
Is the only answer the mother deigns.
"Not another word from one of you!"
It means, so without more ado,
Ashamed and slow
Away they go.