The widow Tomkins had a back room on the second floor
Her name was on a neat brass plate on one side of the door
Many ladies rich in pride are circumstances worse in
For she was independent all by going out a nursing

Companion she had only one, a beautiful tom cat
Who was a famous mouser and a devil for a rat
His colour was a tabby, and his skin as soft as silk
And she would lap him every day while he lapped up his milk

The widow Tomkins kept herself aloof from every neighbour
Her pleasure all consisting in assisting at a labour
One day she was disturbed from sleep with a double rat tat tat
And she went in such a hurry that she quite forgot her cat

Poor Tom! As soon as daylight came walked up and down the floor
And heard the dog meat woman cry 'cat's meat’ at the door
And when he heard the well known cry to mew he did begin
In vain, for he could not get out, and she could not get in

Confined to this one single room, he could not roam the house
He wanted a companion, if it only was a mouse
He watched a hole in vain, for no mouse came, his hopes to crown
Either he was too much up or the mouse was too much down

With hunger he got fairly wild, the formerly so tame
Another day passed slowly by, another just the same
With hunger he so hungry was, it did so strong assail
That although very loath, he was obliged to eat his tail

This whetted quite his appetite, and though the stump was sore
The next day he was tempted (sad!) to eat a little more
To make his life the longer then, he made his body shorter
And one after the other, gad, he ate his hinder quarter

Hunger is a spur which has such long and pointed rowels
It spurred him on next day, and next, to gobble all his bowels
He walked about on two fore legs, alas without beholders
Still more and more by hunger pressed he dined on both his shoulders

Next day, he found (the cannibal!) to eating more a check
Although he tried and did reach all he could reach of his neck
But as he could not bite his ear all mournfully he cried
Towards the door he turned his eyes, cocked up his nose and died!

The widow did at last return and oh, how she did stare
She guessed the tale as soon as she saw Tom’s head lying there
With grief sincerely heartfelt she found his fate a hard one
She buried him beneath an apple tree, just down her garden

Now mark, my friends, how aberrations in this world appear
The fruit of this sad tree was changed, and strangely too, next year
The neighbours say (tis truth, for they’re folks who go to chapels)
This cats head was the true first cause of all the cat’s head apples