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by Cristel Hastings
published in UNKNOWN WORLDS, December 1940
They slink down furtive alleyways,
Shunning the corner lights,
Seeking the gloom of a somber yard
Instead of the moonlit heights.
Only their eyes glow like phosphorus
Steady, unblinking and sly,
Retreating with shadows that lost themselves
As a milk cart rumbles by.
Sniffing at this and sneezing at that,
Dainty, yet furtive and mean,
Matching their wits with the mongrel breed,
Licking their long whiskers clean.
The black cats of midnight are phantoms
Traveling on soft-cushioned feet,
Preferring dim alleys to arc lamps
That brighten the well-traveled street.