Epilog of the Raven

Epilog of the Raven
By: Edgar Allan Poe’s Cat

On a night quite un-enchanting, while 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, I fancy, is 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 heeded
Towards his roost atop that dreaded bust of Pallus I deplore.
While the bard and birdie chatted, I made sure that nothing clattered,
Creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered as I crossed the corridor.
For this house is crammed with trinkets, curios and weird décor,
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 pouncing on the feathered bore.
Soon he was a heap of plumage and a little blood and gore.
A midnight snack and not much more.

“Oh!” my pickled poet cried out. “Pussycat, it’s time I dried out!
Never sat I in my hideout conversing with such 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 the bust I so abhor,
Jumped and smashed it on the floor.