Midnight Attack

From the Rock Island Argus, October 8, 1912.
By Duncan M. Smith.
 

 Oft in the stilly night
 When the cats begin to fight
 On the fence behind the lot
 Then I form a little plot
 As the window wide I throw
 And the yard I knee-deep sow
 With lots of bric-a-brac
 That was resting on the rack.
 
 Do the cats in wild alarm
 Run lest I should do them harm?
 Do they let the concert slide
 And proceed in haste to hide?
 No; they do not seem to know
 As I throw and throw and throw
 That a single thing is wrong
 With their piercing midnight song.
 
 Then I heave a pair of shoes
 That I wouldn’t care to lose,
 And I throw a kitchen chair,
 Followed by my wife’s false hair,
 Books and tables, sofa, rugs,
 Pots and kettles, pans and mugs,
 Writing pads, my rubber stamp,
 The piano and the lamp.
 
 Then the bedding and the bed
 From the tail piece to the head
 All are hurled into the gloom
 Till there’s nothing in the room.
 But the cats are good as new
 On the job when I am through.
 Nor do they a moment pause.
 They regard it as applause.