Henry Beard

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.