He slowly limps about the house,
And often seeks the outer door,
And wanders round the premises,
And views them daily o'er and o'er.
And as he halting walks about,
Or calmly sits with half closed eye,
He seems to meditate upon
The thrilling scenes of days gone by.
Again he sees the battle front;
Again he hears the bugle call;
Again be rushes to the fray;
Again he sees his foeman fall
Foe after foe he grappled with
On many a dark and bloody field;
And tho the combat lasted long,
He never had been known to yield.
He often fought far in the night,
Unseen except by glittering star;
And all the trophies that he gained
Was many a long, unsightly scar.
An maimed and scarred thru conflicts dire
He lingers on day after day,
And calmly rests beneath the shade,
Or In the sunshine's gentle ray.
He cannot linger long, and yet
He does not seem to care for that;
Who is this veteran, do you ask ?
He is our aged Thomas cat.
__J. M. Cavaness.
J. M. Cavaness
(Chanute: Tribune Pub. Co. 1913)