“He would have finished Goddam off then and there, but pity stayed his hand. 'It's a pity I've run out of bullets,' he thought.”

“Abyssinias"I met a traveler from an antique landWho said: A huge four-footed limestone formSits in the desert, sinking in the sand.Its whiskered face, though marred by wind and storm,Still flaunts the dainty ears, the collar bandAnd feline traits the sculptor well portrayed:The bearing of a born aristocrat,The stubborn will no mortal can dissuade.And on its base, in long-dead alphabets,These words are set: "Reward for missing cat!His name is Abyssinias, pet of pets;I, Ozymandias, will a fortune payFor his return. he heard me speak of vets --O foolish King! And so he ran away.”

“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.”

“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!”

“The End of the Raven"On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain was downward slantingI 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.'[...]Still the Raven never fluttered, standing stock-still as he utteredIn 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.”

“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.”

“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)”