Growltiger’s Last Stand
Growltiger was a bravo cat
Who traveled on a barge:
In fact he was the roughest cat
That ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford
He pursued his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of
The "Terror of the Thames" Ha ha ha ha ha!
His manner and appearance
Did not calculate to please;
His coat was torn and seedy,
He was baggy at the knees;
One ear was somewhat missing,
No need to tell you why,
And he scowled upon a hostile world
From one forbidding eye.
The cottagers of Rotherhithe
Knew something of his fame;
At Hammersmith and Putney people
Shuddered at his name.
They would fortify the hen house,
Lock up the silly goose,
When the rumor ran along the shore:
Growltiger’s on the loose!
Woe to the weak canary,
That fluttered from its cage;
Woe to the pampered Pekinese,
That faced Growltiger’s rage;
Woe to the bristly bandicoot,
That lurks on foreign ships
And woe to any cat with whom
Growltiger came to grips:
But most to cats of foreign race
His hatred had been vowed:
To cats of foreign name and race
No quarter was allowed.
The Persian and Siamese
Regarded him with fear
Because it was a Siamese
Had mauled his missing ear.
Now on a peaceful summer
Night nature seemed at play.
The tender moon was shinning bright
The barge at Molesey lay
All in balmy moonlight
It lay rocking on the tide
And Growltiger was disposed to show
His sentimental side
Growltiger's bucko mate, Grumbuskin, long since had disappeared
For to the bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard
And his bosun, Tumblebrutus, he too had stol'n away
In the yard behind the lion he was prowling for his prey
All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide
And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side
n the fore peak of the vessel
Growltiger stood alone
Concentrating my attention
On the Lady Griddlebone
And my raffish crew were sleeping
In their barrels and their bunks.
As the Siamese came creeping
In their sampans and their junks.
Growltigerhad no eye or ear
For aught but Griddlebone
And the lady seemed enraptured
By his manly baritone
Disposed to relaxation and awaiting no surprise.
But the moonlights shone reflected
From a thousand bright blue eyes,
And closer still and closer the sampans
Circled round and yet from all
The enemy there was not heard a sound.
The foe was armed with toasting forks
And cruel carving knives
GROWLTIGER AND GRIDDLEBONE:
And the lover’s sang their last duet
In danger of their lives.