Pawprints and Purrs, Inc.
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Cat Poems
Part IV
"There are few things in life more heartwarming than to be welcomed by a cat." ~ Tay Hohoff ~
Kitten's Night Thoughts
When human folk put out the light
And think they've made it dark as night,
A pussycat sees every bit
As well as when the lights are lit.
When human folk have gone upstairs
And shed their skins and said their prayers,
And there is no one to annoy,
Then Pussy may her life enjoy.
No human hands to pinch or slap,
Or rub her fur against the nap,
Or throw cold water from a pail,
Or make a handle of her tail.
And so you will not seek it wrong,
When she can play the whole night long,
With no one to disturb her play,
That pussy goes to bed by day.
~ Oliver Herford ~
I Am the Cat
In Egypt they worshiped me-
I am the cat.
Because I bend not to the will of man
They call me a mystery.
When I catch and play with a mouse,
They call me cruel,
Yet they take animals to keep
In parks and zoos, that they may gape at them.
They shoot, they hang, they torture them,
Yet dare to call me cruel.
Could they but see themselves
As I, the Cat, see them,
These human creatures, bereft of all freedom,
Who follow in the ruts others made
Long ages gone!
Who have rings in their noses,
Yet know it not.
They hate me, the Cat,
Because, forsooth, I do not love them.
Do they love me?
They think all animals are made for their pleasure
To be their slaves.
And, while I kill only for my needs,
They kill for pleasure, power and gold,
And then pretend to a superiority!
Why should I love them?
I, the Cat, whose ancestors
Proudly trod the jungle,
Not one ever tamed by man.
Ah, do they know
That the same immortal hand
That gave them breath, gave breath to me?
But I alone am free-
I am THE CAT.
~ Leila Usher ~
No Comparison
What can compare with the sight of a cat,
the soft, silky fur,
delicate feet,
wide trusting eyes,
the tinest eyelashes.
What can possibly compare with the ways of a cat,
the sinuous stretch,
a serious washing,
the coma of sleep,
a tiny cat sneeze.
What is there to compare with a cat's play,
chewing your newspaper,
attacking your toes,
a game of "chase",
the gift of a mouse.
What indeed can compare with a cat's affection,
the rumbling purr,
a paw on your knee,
the rubbing of noses,
and sweet kitty kisses.
~ Sharon Remmen ~
Purrsonally Speaking
In this world of hustle-bustle
You may have your this and that;
But there's nothing quite so pleasing
As the purring of a cat.
~ Marcy Stewart Froemke ~
Angel of the Night
I know my cat's an angel
For he watches over me.
Slyly, when his eyes seem shut;
At night, when I can't see.
I know my cat's an angel
For his ears protect my sleep.
A creak, a squeak, a footfall;
At any noise he'll leap.
I know my cat's an angel
For he curls up at my side;
A warning to intruders
That's it's best to run and hide.
I know my cat's an angel
For although he hasn't wings
I'm safe and warm beside him,
Wrapped in all the love he brings.
~ Nancy Joseph ~
Growltiger's Last Stand
Growltiger was a Bravo Cat, who lived upon a barge;
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of "The Terror of the Thames."
His manners and appearance did not calculate to please;
His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees;
One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why,
And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye.
The cottagers of Rotherhithe knew something of his fame,
At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name.
They would fortify the hen-house, lock up the silly goose,
When the rumour ran along the shore:
GROWLTIGER'S ON THE LOOSE!
Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage;
Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger's rage.
Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships,
And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips!
But most to Cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed;
To Cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed.
The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear -
Because it was a Siamese had mauled his missing ear.
Now on a peaceful summer night, all nature seemed at play,
The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molesey lay.
All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide -
And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side.
His bucko mate, Grumbuskin, long since had disappeared,
For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard;
And his bosun, Tumblebrutus, he too had stol'n away -
In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey.
In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sat alone,
Concentrating his attention on the Lady Griddlebone.
And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks -
As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks.
Growltiger had no eye or ear for aught but Griddlebone,
>And the Lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone,
Disposed to relaxation, and awaiting no surprise -
But the moonlight shone reflected from a thousand bright blue eyes.
And closer still and closer the sampans circled round,
And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound.
The lovers sang their last duet, in danger of their lives -
For the foe was armed with toasting forks and cruel carving knives.
Then Gilbert gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde;
With a frightful burst of fireworks the Chinks they swarmed aboard.
Abandoning their sampans, and their pullaways and junks,
They battened down the hatches on the crew within their bunks.
Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered;
I am sorry to admit it, but she quickly disappeared.
She probably escaped with ease, I'm sure she was not drowned -
But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround.
The ruthless foe pressed forward, in stubborn rank on rank;
Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank.
He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop,
At the end of all his crimes was forced to go ker-flip, ker-flop.
Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flew through the land;
At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the strand.
Rats were roasted whole at Brentford, and at Victoria Dock,
And a day of celebration was commanded in Bangkok.
~ T.S. Eliot ~
Lickety, Splickety, and the Old Tom Cat
Lickety, splickety, very pernickety
Mrs. O'Connolly hustles along on her
Rickety bicycle, cold as an icicle,
Treadalling pedalling meddling on!
And the old
tom cat
stretches slowly
by the fire.
What can the matter be, Mrs. O'Rafferty
Falling all over herself in her worry to
Get to the baker and pick out a cake for a
Jolly-good-gobble-it-down-in-a-hurry!
And the old
tom cat
pads slowly
up the stairs.
Oh what calamity, Mrs. O'Flamity
Falls out the window on top of a barrow -
it tumbles and jumbles up Mrs. O'Connolly -
Mrs. O'Rafferty slips down a narrow
Gap down by the gutter and falls in a pothole.
Oh mercy! The poor silly thing is in agony!
Mrs. O'Connolly's under a jag! Any
witnesses please to the dreadful calamity
Come to the Polis and please bring a bottle!
And the old
tom cat
rolls over, smiles, and sleeps.
~ Author Unknown ~
The Old Woman And Her Cats
Who friendship with a knave hath made
Id judg'd a partner in the trade.
The matron, who conducts abroad
A willing nymph, is though a bawd;
And if a modest girl is seen
With one who cures a lover's spleen,
We guess her, not extremely nice,
And only wish to know her price.
'Tis thus, that on the choice of friends
Our good or evil name depends.
A wrinkled hag, of wicked fame,
Beside a little smoky flame
sat hov'ring, pinch'd with age and frost;
Her shrivell'd hands, her veins embost,
Upon her knees her weight sustains,
While palsy shook her crazy brains;
She mumbles forth her backward prayers,
An untam'd scold or fourscore years.
About her swarm'd a num'rous brood
Of Cats, who lank with hunger mew'd.
Teaz'd with their cries her choler grew,
And thus she sputter'd. Hence, ye crew.
Fool that I was, to entertain
Such imps, such fiends, a hellish train!
Had ye been never hous'd and nurst
I, for a witch, had ne'er been curst.
To you I owe, that crouds of boys
Worry me with eternal noise;
Straws laid across my pace retard,
The horse-shoe's nail'd (each threshold's guard)
The stunted broom the wenches hide,
For fear that I should up and ride;
The stick with pins my bleeding seat,
And bid me shew my secret teat.
To hear you prate would vex a saint,
Who hath most reason of complaint?
Replies a Cat. Let's come to proof.
Had we ne'er starved beneath yur roof.
We had, like others of our race,
In credit liv'd, as beasts of chace.
'Tis infamy to serve a hag;
Cats are thought imps, her broom a nag;
And boys against our lives combine,
Because, 'tis said, your cats have nine.
~ John Gay ~
The Cat
Within that porch across the way,
I see two naked eyes this night;
Two eyes that neither shut nor blink,
Searching my face with a green light.
But cats to me are strange so strange -
I cannot sleep if one is near,
And though I am sure I see those eyes,
I'm not so sure a body's there!
~ W.H. Davies ~
When God Created Kitty Cats
When God created kitty cats,
He had no recipe;
He knew He wanted something sweet,
As sweet as sweet could be.
He started out with sugar,
Adding just a trace of spice;
Then stirred in drops of morning dew,
To keep them fresh and nice.
He thought cats should be soft to pet,
Thus He gave them coats of fur;
So they could show they were content,
He taught them how to purr.
He made for them long tails to wave,
While strutting down the walk;
Then trained them in meow-ology,
So they could do cat-talk.
He made them into acrobats,
And gave them grace and poise;
Their wide-eyed curiosity,
He took from little boys.
He put whiskers on their faces,
Gave them tiny ears for caps;
Then shaped their little bodies,
To snugly fit on laps.
He gave them eyes as big as saucers,
To look into man's soul;
Then set a tolerance for mankind,
As their purpose and their goal.
Benevolent ... and ... generous,
He made so many of them;
Then charged, with Fatherly Concern,
The human race to love them.
When one jumped up upon His lap,
God gently stroked its head;
The cat gave Him a kitty kiss,
"What wondrous love," God said.
God smiled at His accomplishment,
So pleased with His creation;
And said, with pride, as He sat back,
"At last. . .I've reached purr-fection!"
~ Author Unknown ~
Cats are Better than Dogs
Cats are far, far better than dogs
as everybody knows.
They would never destroy the furniture, they would never
attack one's toes.
Why, on any city corner just look and you will find
a careful, vigilant guidecat, faithfully leading the blind.
Afar up in the frozen north, where it's leventy-seven below,
man depends upon the catsled to get where he must go.
If buried in an avalanche with no way to get free,
the rescue cat will dig you out, as quickly as can be.
At night, if to one's house should come, a prowler meaning harm
the ever attentive watchcat will be sure to sound the alarm.
And should there be a jailbreak, then the nose of the hardy bloodcat
will pick up the scent of the reprobate and catch him just like that!
Yes, cats are far better than dogs, as everybody knows...
they would never destroy the furniture.
They would never attack one's toes.
~ Edward Festor ~
A Cat's Prayer to Bast
As I lay me down to sleep
I pray to Bast my soul to keep,
I pray to Bast my soul to take,
And transport it to the sandy lands
Where my forbears worshipped were,
Where my ancient kin were much revered
And where the cat first learned to purr.
As I pad on velvet feet
I pray Bast will give me mice to eat,
And as I use my litter tray
I ask that she will find me play,
In her bright heaven where all cats,
Are stroked by Bast's most blessed hands,
And bask and gambol in her care,
Remembering Egypt's ancient sands.
As I knead upon your knees,
I hope that Bast is greatly pleased
To see her child at rest and play,
Fed and cared for every day,
And when I reach that glorious place
And gaze upon her feline face,
I'll ask that Bast will grant you grace
To join me in eternal play.
~ Author Unknown ~
Cats
There's music in a hammer,
There's music in a nail,
There's Music in a tom-cat
When you tread upon his tail.
~ Author Unknown ~
Kitten
My motorised ball of fluff,
You have golden eyes pink ears and a pink nose
But your long hair is white as winter snow
And warms you like a waistcoat.
A flattened nose and baby teeth
But when you run
It is as though the carpet moves.
You eat for a grown cat
And drink the milk basin dry.
You dig enormous mounds in your tray
As you hide the evidence.
Best when you play games
Biting chewing pouncing
Leaping on cat
Who thumps you scolds you
Chases you back to your place
Where you simper and lick yourself
In pleasure.
My girl.
~ Douglas Clark ~
Uncanny
There is something so peculiar in a cat's mysterious ways,
That I'm inclined to think I hit the mark
In hinting at affinities with beings we can't praise,
And do not like to think of after dark.
Have you noted, a cozy winter evening, in your chair,
You would start up with a sudden, "Oh, dear me!"
As you caught, intently gazing at a thing that wasn't there,
The feline member of your family?
Have you noticed how she listens with a sharp and anxious ear?
And how she moves her head along the wall?
And you get so very nervous at the things you cannot hear,
That you hardly dare to go to bed at all.
It is only that her senses, preternaturally keen,
At night are very, very wide-awake;
And she looks at trifling shadows on the ceiling or the screen,
That our dull, human vision does not take.
For the very softest footfall of a mouse in distant wall,
Does not escape that most attentive ear,
Which is tuned to fine accordance far beyond our human call.
Yet it sometimes make us feel a little queer.
I wish they wouldn't do so, for it isn't very nice
To have attention drawn from pleasant book,
And nervously imagine - when they only think of mice -
And feel a strange sensation, when they look.
~ Elliot Walker ~
The Rubáiyát of a Persian Kitten
Wake! for the Golden Cat has put to flight
The Mouse of Darkness with his Paw of Light:
Which means, in Plain and simple every-day
Unoriental Speech - The Dawn is Bright.
They say the Early Bird the Worm shall taste.
Then rise, O Kitten! Wherefore, sleeping, waste
The fruits of Virtue? Quick! the Early Bird
Will soon be on the flutter - O make haste!
The Early Bird has gone, and with him ta'en
The Early Worm - Alas! the Moral's plain,
O Senseless Worm! Thus, thus we are repaid
For Early Rising - I shall doze again.
The Mouse makes merry 'mid the Larder Shelves,
The Bird for Dinner in the Garden delves.
I often wonder what the creatures eat
One half so toothsome as they are Themselves.
And that Inverted Bowl of Skyblue Delf
That helpless lies upon the Pantry Shelf -
Lift not your eyes to It for help, for It
Is quite as empty as you are yourself.
The Ball no question makes of Ayes or Noes,
But right or left, as strikes the Kitten, goes;
Yet why, altho' I toss it far Afield,
It still returneth - Goodness only knows!
A Secret Presence that my likeness feigns,
And yet, quicksilver-like, eludes my pains -
In vain I look for Him behind the glass;
He is not there, and yet He still remains.
What out of airy Nothing to invoke
A senseless Something to resist the stroke
Of unpermitted Paw - upon the pain
Of Everlasting Penalties - if broke.
I sometimes think the Pussy-Willows grey
Are Angel Kittens who have lost their way,
And every Bulrush on the river bank
A Cat-Tail from some lovely Cat astray.
Sometimes I think perchance that Allah may,
When he created Cats, have thrown away
The Tails he marred in making, and they grew
To Cat-Tails and to Pussy-Willows grey.
And lately, when I was not feeling fit,
Bereft alike of Piety and Wit,
There came an Angel Shape and offered me
A fragrant Plant and bid me taste of it.
'Twas that reviving Herb, that Spicy Weed,
The Cat-Nip. Tho' 'tis good in time of need,
Ah, feed upon it lightly, for who knows
To what unlovely antics it may lead.
Strange - is it not? - that of the numbers who
Before me passed this Door of Darkness thro',
Not one returns thro' it again, altho'
Ofttimes I've waited here an hour or two.
'Tis but a Tent where takes his one Night's Rest
A Rodent to the Realms of Death address'd,
When Cook, arising, looks for him and then -
Baits, and prepares it for another Guest.
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamsbýd gloried and drank deep
The Lion is my cousin; I don't know
Who Jamsbýd is - nor shall it break my sleep.
Impotent glimpses of the Game displayed
Upon the Counter - temptingly arrayed;
Hither and thither moved or checked or weighed,
And one by one back in the Ice Chest laid.
What if the Sole could fling the Ice aside,
And with me to some Area's haven glide -
Were't not a Shame, were't not a shame for it
In this Cold Prison crippled to abide?
Some for the Glories of the Sole, and Some
Mew for the proper Bowl of Milk to come.
Ah, take the fish and let your Credit go,
And plead the rumble of an empty Tum.
One thing is certain: tho' this Stolen Bite
Should be my last and Wrath consume me quite,
One taste of It within the Area caught
Better than at the Table lost outright.
Indeed, indeed Repentance oft before
I swore, but was I hungry when I swore?
And then and then came Cook - with Hose in hand -
And drowned my glory in a sorry pour.
What without asking hither harried whence,
And without asking whither harried hence
O, many a taste of that forbidden Sole
Must down the memory of that Insolence.
Heaven, but the vision of a flowing Bowl;
And Hell, the sizzle of a frying Sole
Heard in the hungry Darkness, where Myself,
So rudely cast, must impotently roll.
The Vine has a tough fibre which about
While clings my Being; - let the Canine flout
Till his Bass Voice be pitched to such loud key
It shall unlock the door I mew without.
Up from the Basement to the Seventh flat
I rose, and on the Crown of fashion sat,
And many a Ball unravelled by the way -
But not the Master's angry Bawl of "Scat!"
Then to the Well of Wisdom I, - and lo!
With my own Paw I wrought to make it flow,
And this was all the Harvest that I reaped:
We come like Kittens and like Cats we go.
Why be this Ink the Fount of Wit? - who dare
Blaspheme the glistening Pen-drink as a snare?
A Blessing? - I should spread it, should I not?
And if a Curse - why, then upset it! - there!
A moment's Halt, a momentary Taste
Of Bitter, and amid the Trickling Waste
I wrought strange shapes from Máh to Máhi, yet
I know not what I wrote, nor why they chased.
Now I, beyond the Pale am safely past.
O, but the long, long time their Rage shall last,
Which, tho' they call to supper, I shall heed
As a Stone Cat should head a Pebble cast.
And that perverted Soul beneath the Sky
They call the Dog - Heed not his angry Cry;
Not all his Threats can make me budge one bit,
Nor all his Empty Bluster terrify.
They are no other than a moving Show
Of whirling Shadow Shapes that come and go
Me-ward thro' Moon illumined Darkness hurled,
In midnight, by the Lodgers in the Row.
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
The Backyard fence and heard great Argument
About it, and About, yet evermore
Came out with few fur than in I went.
Ah me! if you and I could but conspire
To grasp this Sorry Scheme of things entire,
Would we not shatter it to bits, and then
Enfold it nearer to our Heart's Desire?
Tho' Two and Two make four by rule of line,
Or they make Twenty-two by Logic fine,
Of all the Figures one may fathom, I
Shall ne'er be floored by anything but Nine.
And fear not lest Existence shut the Door
On You and Me, to open it no more.
The Cream of Life from out your Bowl shall pour
Nine times - ere it lie broken on the floor.
So, if the fish you Steal - the Cream you drink -
Ends in what all begins and ends in, Think,
Unless the Stern Recorder points to Nine,
Tho' They would drown you - still you shall not sink.
~ Oliver Herford ~
