THE END OF 'THE RAVEN'

(The completed missing passages)
By Edgar Allen Poe's Cat
from Poetry for Cats: The Definitive Anthology of
Distinguished Feline Verse by Henry Beard

  On a night quite enchanting,
  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 Pallus 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, curious 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.

  "Oooo!" 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.

Only this and nothing more.