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