Piglet and I have just returned from a trip for the Christmas vegetables: 5 hours, there and back, across snowy, frozen-foggy fields to and from the organic farm shop. Brrrrr! Piggly has eaten two bowls of kibble in warm water, and I’m about to get into a hot bath for a long time.
For some reason, Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven is fluttering around my mind, and that thought led to my favourite parody, reproduced here for your amusement and delectation.
The End of The Raven – by Edgar Allan 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
T’wards 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 –
While this dirge the birdbrain kept up, oh, so silently I crept up,
Then I crouched and quickly leapt up, pouncing on the feather bore.
Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore –
Only this and not much more…
Then 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.