Poetry for Cats: The Definitive Anthology of Distinguished Feline Verse
(The completed missing passages)
By Edgar Allen Poe's Cat
from Poetry for Cats: The Definitive Anthology of
Distinguished Feline Verse by Henry Beard
On a night quite enchanting,
When the rain was downward slanting,
I awakened to the ranting
Of the man I catch mice for.
Tipsy and a bit unshaven,
In a tone I found quite craven,
Poe was talking to a raven
Perched above the chamber door.
"Raven's very tasty," thought I, as I tiptoed o'er the floor,
"There is nothing I like more"
Soft upon the rug I treaded,
Calm and careful as I headed
Towards his roost atop that dreaded bust of Pallus I deplore.
While the bard and birdie chattered,
I made sure that nothing clattered,
Creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered,
As I crossed the corridor;
For his house is crammed with trinkets, curious and weird decor,
Bric-a-brac and junk galore.
Still the raven never fluttered,
Standing stock-still as he uttered,
In a voice that shrieked and sputtered,
His two cents worth -"Nevermore."
While this dirge the birdbrain kept up,
Oh, so silently I crept up,
Then I crouched and quickly leapt up,
Pouncing on the feathered bore.
Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore -
Only this and not much more.
"Oooo!" my pickled poet cried out,
"Pussycat, it's time I dried out!
Never sat I in my hideout
Talking to a bird before;
How I've wallowed in self-pity,
While my gallant, valiant kitty
Put an end to that damned ditty" -
Then I heard him start to snore.
Back atop the door I clambered, eyed that statue I abhor,
Jumped – and smashed it on the floor.
Only this and nothing more.