>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
> 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 carefully 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, 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, plus a little blood and gore --
> Only this and nothing more.
> 
> "Ah!" 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, noble 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.