Life, 1923-04-19 · page 7 of 36
Life — April 19, 1923 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a moralistic poem by Mabel Cleland Ludlum, illustrated with whimsical cat drawings. It's a satirical sermon addressed to a misbehaving black kitten, threatening heavenly consequences for bad behavior. The poem contrasts "Cat Heaven" (featuring cream, milk, fish, and pink-lidded basket-houses) with exclusion from paradise. It references specific misdeeds—scratching a "little White Kitten" and general mischief—as reasons the kitten will be separated from family "when you die." The humor lies in applying Victorian moral rhetoric (sin, punishment, redemption) to a cat's petty crimes. By treating feline behavior with religious seriousness, the poem gently mocks both contemporary moralizing and the era's concern with proper conduct and "reform."
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
To a Bad Black Kitten OU will be sorry when you die And find that you are the only kitten in your family Not in Heaven. = When you look through the White Bone Gates And see your father and mother and sisters and brothers Flying from tree to tree on their chicken wings, Or playing Jew’s-harps and singing, singing, With no one to stop them. You will be very lonely, For there will be only you and the bad Robber Kitten outside. And when you see the streets of Cat Heaven Stretching out in long even rows, Like the back-yard fences at home, And the fountains of cream and milk, And the plates of fish and chicken on every corner, And the pink-lined baskets which are the houses in Cat Heaven, And the open fire-places and the bright sunshine, You will wish that you had been good! The little White Kitten You scratched so badly yesterday, Will be in heaven, Because it turned its other cheek for you to scratch, And it will come and stick its pink tongue out at you, Through the bars of the White Bone Gates. And a catnip mouse with mechanical insides (There is no death even for mice in Heaven) Will poke its nose out at you, And throwing its tail over its arm will dance a jig, Because you cannot reach it. Oh, Bad Black Kitten, reform your ways! Cover your sharp claws with the soft velvet of piety, Replace your sputterings with the sweet purr of flattery, Sit at your Mistress’ feet and sing her a song of praise (Even though you would rather be lolling at ease in the sunshine). Do these things, Little Black Kitten, And the Heaven of Puss-in-Boots will be yours! And for goodness’ sake, Come home at night! Mabel Cleland Ludlum, comicbooks.com