Strange Pussycat Minds
Phillip Mills

(Based on _Rich Fantasy Lives_,
Words: © 2004 by Rob Balder, Music: © 2004 by Tom Smith)

It's raining one cold night and there in the gold light,
Half in and half out of the doorway,
Is a tabby who sits, washing these and those bits,
Disdaining requests to come your way.
Then he sprints for the corner; there's monsters, he warns, or
Perhaps he sees ghosts in that bare hall.
It fills you with pride when he purrs by your side,
Then he coughs up a slimy, wet hair-ball.

Strange pussycat minds.
Somehow he reminds you of chaos confined,
There's reckless abandon and paranoid signs
In strange pussycat minds.

That small, gray short-hair who hides on the stair
And reacts if you step near her grand tail
Has resumed her serene pose, asleep on the clean clothes
That you dropped while grabbing the handrail.
She chooses your warm lap, curls up for a long nap,
You think she loves you for your own self.
She twitches in dreams as she entertains schemes for the
Knickknacks you've left on a low shelf.

Strange pussycat minds.
She quietly dines on the yarn she unwinds.
Persians and burmese and all other kinds
Have strange pussycat minds.

They're piling up mice; though the gesture is nice,
When prey escapes, I am elated.
Can't get at the birds and I'm glad growls aren't words
Or our window ledge would be X-rated
Now, don't be perturbed when their dinner you've served
Sits un-touched out there in the kitchen.
Whatever they do, they're playing with you
And they learned that when they were just kittens.

Strange pussycat minds.
Chewed corks from the wine and guitar picks they find.
Until I've a way to translate from feline,
They'll be strange pussycat minds.

Strange pussycat minds.
Their plot for all time to enslave humankind.
But what could be better than rays of sun-shine
To those strange pussycat minds?
Strange pussycat minds.