She feels that when the kittens come, the children should be here.
She told them that a big orange Tom took Kitty as his wife-
"It's wonderful, a gift from God, the miracle of life!"
Friends of Afghan Hounds
To appreciate six miracles, blind-eyed and yellow haired.
But she knows these lives depend on her and nature tells her how
And as she cleans them, children ask, "Mom, can we go now?"
To play with six new magic toys, made of life and fur.
The six weeks pass, the newness gone and new homes yet unfound,
Mom bundles up six miracles and takes them to the pound.
The shelter workers kiss them once and send them off to die.
And 'Momma Kitty', now she's called, mourns her loss and then
She's put outside and, of course, she's pregnant once again!
Dad tells Kitty STOP THIS NOW or you won't live here long!
But deep inside Momma Cat, this time something's wrong.
Too young, too small, too often bred, now nature's gone awry,
Momma Kitty feels it too and she crawls off to die.
She too is freed from this cruel world, and from her time of strife.
How harsh the truth, how high the price, this 'Miracle of Life".
Has brought you homeless to my gate?
The gate where once another stood
To beg for shelter, warmth and food.
For from that day I ceased to be
The master of my destiny.
Became within my house the law.
He scratched the furniture and shed
And claimed the middle of my bed.
And broke my heart the day he died.
So if you really think, oh Cat,
I'd willingly relive all that
Because you come forlorn and thin,
Well, don't just stand there...
Come on in!
I'm tired of running; I'm sick with despair.
My body is aching, it's so racked with pain
And Dear God, I pray as I run in the rain,
That someone will love me and give me a home.
A warm cozy bed I can call my own.
My last owner neglected me and chased me away
To rummage in garbage and live as a stray.
But now God, I'm tired and hungry and cold.
And I'm afraid that I'll never grow old.
They've chased me with sticks and hit me with stones
While I run in the streets, just looking for bones!
I'm not really bad, God, please help if you can.
For I have become a 'Victim of Man'!
I'm wormy, dear God, and I'm ridden with fleas
And all that I want is an owner to please!
If you find one for me, God, I'll try to be good;
I won't run away and I'll do as I should.
I don't think I'll make it too long on my own,
Cause I'm getting so weak and I'm so all alone.
Each night as I sleep in the bushes, I cry
Cause I'm so afraid, God, that I'm gonna die!
And I've got so much love and devotion to give,
That I should be given a new chance to live.
So dear God, PLEASE, PLEASE answer my prayer
And send me somebody who WILL really care...
