A sweet, short-skirted, pouting pet,
A winsome, laughing, glad, girlette;
She's ten-and-thoughtless, and as yet,
By falsity unsmitten!
A merry young misogynist,
Few boyish games can she resist --
The Kitten!

She hates a doll and girlish toys,
She's fond of whips, and dogs, and boys,
For, truth to tell, she finds no joys
In crewel-work or tatting:
But see how smiling is her face,
Indeed, a pretty gleeful Grace -
When batting!

She bowls with marvelous success,
And keeps her wicket, I confess --
Despite her graceful girlish dress
As well as any Briton!
She's saucy, silly, and self-willed,
The smartest longstop ever frilled --
The Kitten!

She's erudite in "wides" and "byes,"
And I will venture to surmise,
She'll vanquish any boy her size
At games of single-wicket!
And yet, no doubt, she's good as gold,
For I'll go bail she's only bold --
At cricket!

But like her namesake, dad in fur,
No mischief comes amiss to her;
To me it seems it should occur,
To leave her faults unwritten.
She'll make a score, I'm sure of that,
And loves to carry out her bat --
The Kitten!