P-P-P-Purrly, beautiful Purrly,
You’re the only cat that I a-a-adore
When the m-moon shines over the cat house
You’ll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door.
This one is to the tune of a song I had on a Burl Ives kids record many years ago. I think it’s called “Foopah Woopah John.” And Tootsie is a dog, but the cats don’t mind:
Saw a dog drop a log
Tootsie Wootsie Tootsie Wootsie
Saw a dog drop a log
Tootsie Wootsie Dog
Saw a dog drop a log
In the middle of the bog
Hey dog, ho dog
Tootsie Wootsie Dog
I just adopted my kitty a month ago, and I seriously thought I was losing my mind when I kept bursting into song around him! (It was like some crazy Disney movie.) My favorite happens to be that one Neil Diamond song (the title escapes me) that goes:
Pussycat, pussycat, I love you
Yes, I do-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo
(repeat endlessly)
This usually leads to him giving me The Look. The one that says, “Look, I know you feed me, so I guess I have to put up with you, but could we keep the wierdness to a minimum?”
One of my cats, who is otherwise very aloof, melts when I sing, “Moon River” to her.
The other cat, Sweet William, is rather short and stuby. He is a black cat with no tail, just a nub. I sing a song to him based an old sea-song, “Mrs, McGraw,” because sometimes he sits with his legs curled up underneath him where they can’t be seen. It goes like this:
Intro- spoken- What happened to your legs?
Oh…the Willie Cat was long and strong; had four good legs to walk upon. But now he has no legs at all and he looks like a cannon ball.
Corus- Cannon ball, cannon ball. He looks like a cannon ball.
Oh, were you drunk or were you blind to leave your four good legs behind? Or did someone with a horrible yell, cut off your legs like they did your tail?
Well…I was not drunk and I was not blind to leave my four good legs behind; I like to sit this way you see, because I am a strange kitty.
…yeah, it is gettting late. I think I need to go to bed before I get silly, or something.
“Lida Rose” from the Music Man
Sidney boy, I’m home again boy
without a puddy to my name
Siddy boy, now everyone knows
that I’ve got TUNA in the Fri-i-i-idge…
“Allouette”
Nermietta, fuzzy Nermietta,
Nermietta, je te plumerai
Je te plumerai la tete (pet appropriate part until the fur flies)
et la tete
et le dos
et la tete
ohhhh…
(etc & repeat until kitty runs away)
And of course the only proper response to that whiny meow.
Puddies, puddies who need…something
Are the WHINiest puddies
In the world
you’re meowing
always with the meowing
And you’re going to get a ride
out to the great outside…
(suit actions to lyric)
I also do the Rubber Ducky song for my friend’s cat, Skinny and occasionally for my cat, Carter.
Carter Kitty, you’re the one,
You make kitties lots of fun.
Carter Kitty, I’m awfully fond of you,
Boo boo bee doo.
Another popular one around here these days is Suppertime (nod to the Gershwins)
Suppertime
And the kitties are hungry…
Bellies rumbling
And the food is all gone.
Your momma is rich
And just bought some Friskies.
So hush, pretty kitties,
Salmon dinner is on.
Several years ago, I had a nice little cat named Margarine (Marge for short). When she was a kitten, she was hit by a car (bad day at leafrog’s house. :() and survived…she merited this song afterwards:
Margarine, Margarine,
Has a crack in her cranium.
Has a brain, the size of a fly’s.
Runs in the street, we don’t know why.
Look out!!
Here comes the Margarine!
Well, lately I’ve sung the Smelly cat song repeatedly to Pepper. Coriander gets the Amadeus (by Falco) bit sung to her. Ginger doesn’t have her own song yet, but she mostly a layabout and tends to not be very interesting.
However, She might appreciate the “We Will Pet You” song.
I sometimes sing the Kliban “Loves to eat them Mousies” blues, which I added verses and music to.
And for the record, we have some goats that I can’t resist singing:
Nah nah nah nah
Nah Nah Nah Nah
Hey, Hey, you’re goats
With a goat like warble in my voice.
Go ahead – call the asylum, they’ll be glad to see me again
My Momma taught me the original song when I was a wee tyke. Even though I am now a grown man, I still sing it in the f# (diminished) key that she taught me. (It comes out as tenor, not falsetto, thank you very much)
I will now attempt the parody version to my cuzn’s kitty.
ahem
mi mi mi mi mi Supper ti-ime…
hey, Stormy! Come back here! Aw, come on, kitty…
I used to sing this to the tune of “Bad Boys” (theme from COPS) to my cat Fatboy. He was very rarely amused because I was usually singing it when he was begging for something to eat (often while his bowl still had food in it):
Fatboy, Fatboy,
Whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha gonna do when ya run outta food?
This morning I heard my eleven-year-old son singing quietly to our two cats, one male and one female, to the tune of Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes:
He’s a good cat, he don’t try to hide it, pads on the soles of his paws, a-wah, a-wah.
She’s a cute cat, she don’t try to hide it, whiskers on the sides of her cheeks, a-wah, a-wah . . .
(To Roger Miller’s “Can’t Rollerskate in a Buffalo Herd”)
Well, you can’t sharpen your claws on the washing machine
You can’t sharpen your claws on the washing machine
Can’t sharpen your claws on the washing machine
But you can have kissies if you’ve a mind to!
I don’t have a cat (not fond of having cat-dog fights in my living-room), but I do sing to my dog, Molly.
Every morning she comes running down the hall and jumps into bed and I sing:
Good morning
Good morning
You slept the whole night through
Good morning
Good morning
To you!
Good morning
Good morning
It’s great to see your face
Good morning
Good morning
I love you
(I add the appropriate adjectives and change lines as appropriate–e.g. “You kept us up all night”)
Whenever she’s stubbornly hiding under the bed refusing to come out, I sing the same tune with different words (Good Molly, Good Molly, you’re such a cutie pup, good Molly, good Molly, yes you are). That usually flushes her out.
I also sing, to the tune of “I’m a Little Teapot:”
Molly is a stinkbutt
Short and stout
Her tail is her handle
Her nose is her spout
She never gets steamed up
So you never hear her shout:
“Tip me over and pour me out.”
And of course she gets to hear my rendition of Lollypop (Mollypop).
I’m so glad that I’m not alone in singing to my significant pet!
I sing so many songs to my kitties Huey and Max, most of them too embarrassing to be printable. I just modify whatever song’s in my head at the moment. But lately I’ve caught myself muttering:
I’m not sure if the fact that they hang about while I’m singing other stuff counts. Though I do sort of perform in their general direction. And sometimes they sing along. “Vissi d’arte” seems to either mesmerise them or make them flee in terror. Damn critics.
At my house, we have three cats. One is a tiny little siamese that has gotten extremely chubby over the years, named Dinah. Another is a calico who is just the sweetest thing in the world, but is dumb as a post. My sister named her Fluffy.
The last one is Lucretia, an adorable longhaired tabby with a pink nose and the softest fur you will ever know. We refer to her affectionately as “The Kitten” or “The Baby” because she’s our youngest cat by far.
(To the tune of Stevie Wonder’s “Signed, Sealed, Delivered”
I’ve been mean to neglect the cats
That’s why Fluffy’s dumb and Dinah’s fat
Ooohh baby, here I go
I’ll pet the kitten, right now!
Baby slept on my bed last night
With my sock she got into a fight
Heeey baby, come on and
Go pet the kitten right now!
We call our male cat Scooter ,often shortened to Scoot or Scoots. To him I sing , to the tune of the “Bugs Bunny Show” theme (and using what I for a long time thought were the first three syllables , instead of “Overture”)
Oh Monsieur!
You’re a Scoot!
And they’ve turned
You into a neut!
(Referring not only to his operation , but also to Monty Python & the Holy Grail.)
I too cannot resist breaking out in the Meow Mix commercial at din-din.
Other than that, they just get thier respective CATS songs. Growing up I had a Rum Tum Tugger (still on the wrong side of every door, just my parent’s door and not mine) and a Grizabella (poor kitty, I miss her). I now have a Gumbie Cat and Bustopher Jones. When the fat black one sprawls on the floor with his belly up waiting for a belly rub, it’s hard not to break out in “Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones, in fact he’s remarkably fat!” I haven’t been able to work their real names into the songs though.
