Words and Music by Dennis Livingston

There were three cats from Poestenkill [Post]
who climbed up to the moon
on a ladder made from gossamer thread,
hung by a spider who stood on her head,
while listening hard (as best she could)
to the cry of a lonely loon.

The cats they took a pot of tea
and a bag of cinnamon scones,
along with a jar of marmalade,
a tablecloth made of fine brocade,
three forks, one knife, two sugar cubes,
and a pair of dried up bones.

When they arrived, they all set out
to see what they could see.
Leaping, pouncing, twisting, twirling,
suddenly still, then suddenly whirling,
having a party is oodles of fun
if there isn't much gravity.

Proceeding this way, it didn't take long
to enter a cratery gloom.
Where a great many objects of varying size
appeared before their dazzled eyes.
They couldn't believe it and started to laugh

They could see
A thousan' toy boats torn loose from their docks,
a million stray sheep too far from their flocks,
a billion sad keys all missing their locks,
a trillion or so mismatched dirty socks.
Tattered teddy bears that once were so loved
'till into a corner they were carelessly shoved.
Buttons and ribbons and earrings galore
that had fallen through the cracks in many a floor.
Pencils and paper clips in countless array,
tons of rusty fishing hooks from the Bay of Biscay.
Plenty of homework that never went to school
'cause it fell off the table, skittered under a stool.
They had all disappeared without any trace,
or so it was thought, Your Honor, Your Grace,
but now the cats had found the place
where the many lost things of the human race
must make their way through outer space

Those daring three cats from Poestenkill
danced on through the long lunar night.
They drank their tea and nibbled their scones
while rhythmic'ly banging the dried up bones.
One played with the bears, one chased the sheep
and the third leapt away from a meteorite.

Till by and by, they felt themselves
begin to stretch and yawn.
It was time to go home, as good cats do,
before the crack of dawn.

They scampered back down to dear old Earth
on the ladder made of gossamer thread,
that was hung by a spider who stood on her head...

They were more than ready to go to bed.

So they softly crept, with nary a sound,
to the darkness of their room,
lapped their milk from a golden spoon,
far from the cry of the lonely loon,
purring with plans for returning quite soon ...



© 1999 Hallmark Music Co.


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