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More cat verse

post #1 of 2
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To a Vase
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Cat

How do I break thee? Let me count the ways.
I break thee if thou art at any height
My paw can reach, when, smarting from some slight,
I sulk, or have one of my crazy days.
I break thee with an accidental graze
Or twitch of tail, if I should take a fright.
I break thee out of pure and simple spite
The way I broke the jar of mayonnaise.
I break thee if a bug upon thee sits.
I break thee if I’m in a playful mood,
And then I wrestle with the shiny bits.
I break thee if I do not like my food.
And if someone thy shards together fits,
I’ll break thee once again when thou art glued.


The Hairball and the Mouse
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s Cat

I chased a mouse beneath the stair,
It went to ground, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it ran, my sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I coughed a hairball in the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For though my sight is sharp and true,
I saw not where that fur-bullet flew.
Some time afterward, quite by chance,
I spied them both in a single glance;
For the mouse in a corner lay dead,
A hairball lodged in his tiny head.


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.â€

Soft upon the rug I treaded,
calm and careful as I headed
Toward 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.â€
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.


From a Cat’s Garden of Verses
by Robert Louis Stevenson’s Cat

The Rain
The rain is raining all around,
It rains on me and you;
I hope the neighbor’s dog has drowned,
Or caught a fatal flu.

A mousie squealing in a trap
Woke me from my morning nap.
Wasn’t he so very sweet
To tell me it was time to eat?

Whole Duty of Cats
A cat should never kill a mouse
Until he’s chased it through the house,
And shown it to another kitten,
Before its little head is bitten.

Catty Thought
The world is so full of such edible things,
I’ll nibble their feet, and I’ll chew off their wings.


by Joyce Kilmer’s Cat

I think that I shall never see
A poem as nifty as a tree.
A tree whose rugged trunk seems meant
To speed a happy cat’s ascent;
A tree that laughs at dogs all day
And serves up baby birds for prey;
A tree whose limbs are in the sky
Where clandestinely I can spy;
Until it does upon me dawn
It is a mile down to the lawn.
Poems are made by cats like me,
But only you can get me off this stupid tree.
post #2 of 2
I love those Hissy! Being an English major in college, I studied all of the people poets. They never told us about their infintely more talented cats!
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