Tuesday, June 29, 2010



The End of the Raven
by Edgar Allen Poe's Cat

On a night quite unenchanting,
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 Pallas 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,
curios 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 and 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.

3 comments:

Lexcen said...

A more poetic cat than my cat will ever be.

JP said...

Is good to see you are back...tell that yager story again!

JP said...

Is good to see you are back...tell that yager story again!