bosskitty

AHA!!!
The human has left the computer....allow me to introduce myself...I'm the boss kitty around here. I don't know about you, but I think it's time to "paws" and look at some of MY favourite poems....about felines, naturally....read on, I'm sure you'll find MY selections entertaining...
BAT CAT

THE CAT IN THE HAT {EXCERPT}
By Dr. Suess (1904-1991)

We looked!
Then we saw him step in on the mat!
We looked!
And we saw him!
The cat in the hat!
And he said to us,
"Why do you sit there like that?"
"I know it is wet
And the sun is not sunny,
But we can have
Lots of good fun that is funny!"

"I know some good games we could play,"
Said the cat.
" I know some new tricks"
Said the cat in the hat.
"Alot of good tricks.
I will show them to you.
Your mother
will not mind at all if I do."

Then Sally and I
did not know what to say.
Our mother was out of the house
for the day.

But our fish said "no, no!
Make that cat go away!
Tell that cat in the hat
You do NOT want to play!
He should not be here!
He should not be about!
He should not be here
When your mother is out!"

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 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.

"Ooo" 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.