Poe’s Cat

I found this several years ago (The date stamp on the text file says 11/06/04) somewhere, floating around the Internet without any real attribution. Apparently, it is included in an anthology somewhere, but I could not find the original author’s name. I believe it to be anonymous.

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 lept 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 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.

4 Comments

  1. What prose, what flavor, what waxing taste!
    Between the ears is a information mixer.
    What ruffle of feathers, a curer of ale,
    The joy of life is crow between whisker.

    The Bard

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