Old Lady Johnston
Old Lady Johnston
There is an old house on Chickawa Street
That at first glance, this house looks incomplete
The roof is battered and the siding is old
I can imagine the inside is rotting with mold
But to the neighbor’s amazement and their disgust
Old Lady Johnston lives in that husk
She peeks out her windows with her beady eyes
Which means that walking in her yard would be unwise
She is fearful of the outside and outside is fearful of her
So she stays by the window stroking her cat’s fur
She sings to her cat in a bewildering manner
That sounds less like music and more like clatter
Her gap in her teeth makes a whistling noise
Which starts the cat’s meowing, no one enjoys
But this isn’t what’s weirdest or most strange
What scares me the most is her army of mange
For many cats she has, that go in and out
They march the neighborhood, all about
They will stare in your windows late at night
If you so happen to look at one, they shall take flight
It is said that in meowing, they talk to that old bat
And tell her of the world, possible more than that
Like where you are sleeping or much more
Or possibly, what kind of locks are on your front door
She has never been seen out during the day
But at night she comes out, my friends say
Because everyone’s asleep, there’s nothing to fear
She may look in the windows with her cats she holds dear
So, if at night you are alone walking Chickawa street
And you hear the shuffle of old wrinkled feet
Don’t be alarmed if you glance behind
And see mangy cats and a woman unkind