“Hamlet's Cat's Soliloquy"To go outside, and there perchance to stayOr to remain within: that is the question:Whether 'tis better for a cat to suffer The cuffs and buffets of inclement weatherThat Nature rains on those who roam abroad,Or take a nap upon a scrap of carpet,And so by dozing melt the solid hoursThat clog the clock's bright gears with sullen timeAnd stall the dinner bell. To sit, to stareOutdoors, and by a stare to seem to stateA wish to venture forth without delay,Then when the portal's opened up, to standAs if transfixed by doubt. To prowl; to sleep;To choose not knowing when we may once more Our readmittance gain: aye, there's the hairball;For if a paw were shaped to turn a knob,Or work a lock or slip a window-catch,And going out and coming in were madeAs simple as the breaking of a bowl,What cat would bear the houselhold's petty plagues,The cook's well-practiced kicks, the butler's broom,The infant's careless pokes, the tickled ears,The trampled tail, and all the daily shocksThat fur is heir to, when, of his own will,He might his exodus or entrance makeWith a mere mitten? Who would spaniels fear,Or strays trespassing from a neighbor's yard,But that the dread of our unheeded cries And scraches at a barricaded doorNo claw can open up, dispels our nerveAnd makes us rather bear our humans' faultsThan run away to unguessed miseries?Thus caution doth make house cats of us all;And thus the bristling hair of resolutionIs softened up with the pale brush of thought,And since our choices hinge on weighty things,We pause upon the threshold of decision.”

“The Prologue to TERRITORY LOST"Of cats' first disobedience, and the heightOf that forbidden tree whose doom'd ascentBrought man into the world to help us downAnd made us subject to his moods and whims,For though we may have knock'd an apple looseAs we were carried safely to the ground,We never said to eat th'accursed thing,But yet with him were exiled from our placeWith loss of hosts of sweet celestial miceAnd toothsome baby birds of paradise,And so were sent to stray across the earthAnd suffer dogs, until some greater CatRestore us, and regain the blissful yard,Sing, heavenly Mews, that on the ancient banksOf Egypt's sacred river didst inspireThat pharaoh who first taught the sons of menTo worship members of our feline breed:Instruct me in th'unfolding of my tale;Make fast my grasp upon my theme's dark threadsThat undistracted save by naps and snacksI may o'ercome our native reticenceAnd justify the ways of cats to men.”

“Let us roam then, you and I,When the evening is splayed out across the sky[...]Paths that follow like a nagging accusationOf a minor violationTo lead you to the ultimate reproof ...Oh, do not say, 'Bad kitty!'Let us go and prowl the city.In the rooms the cats run to and froAuditioning for a Broadway show."(From The Love Song of J. Morris Housecat)”

“From CATS ARE KIND"I saw a dog pursuing automobiles;On and on he sped.I was puzzled by this;I accosted the dog.'If you catch one,' I said'What will you do with it?''Dumb cat,' he cried,And ran on.”

“If you can try to nap where someone's sitting,Although there is another empty chair,Then rub against his ankle without quittingUntil he rises from your favorite lair;If you can whine and whimper by a portalUntil the bolted door is opened wide,Then howl as if you've got a wound that's mortalUntil he comes and lets you back inside;If you can give a guest a nasty spiking,But purr when you are petted by a thief;If you can find the food not to your likingBecause they put some cheese in with the beef;If you can leave no proffered hand unbitten,And pay no heed to any rule or ban,then all will say you are a Cat, my kitten.And -- which is more -- you'll make a fool of Man!”

“To be, or not to be: that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;No more; and by a sleep to say we endThe heart-ache and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummationDevoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;For in that sleep of death what dreams may comeWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause: there's the respectThat makes calamity of so long life;For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,The insolence of office and the spurnsThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,When he himself might his quietus makeWith a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,To grunt and sweat under a weary life,But that the dread of something after death,The undiscover'd country from whose bournNo traveller returns, puzzles the willAnd makes us rather bear those ills we haveThan fly to others that we know not of?Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;And thus the native hue of resolutionIs sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,And enterprises of great pith and momentWith this regard their currents turn awry,And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisonsBe all my sins remember'd!”

“From CATS ARE KIND"A man said to the universe,'Sir, I exist!''Excellent,' replied the universe,'I've been looking for someone to take care of my cats.”