Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, drunk and bleary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten bore—

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone gently trotting, trotting ‘cross my chamber floor.

“‘Tis a floofer,” muttered I, “walking ‘cross my chamber floor—

            Only this and nothing more.”

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Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the cold December;

And each separate shopping center flashed its lights upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow that my headache bore—

From the rare and valued spirit which the barflies called “one more”—

            Nameless here for ever more.

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And the silken, sad, uncertain clinking of each glass of bourbon

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

“’Tis some floofer entreating entrance at my kitchen door—

Some smol floofer entreating entrance at my kitchen door;—

            This it is and nothing more.”

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Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Cat,” said I, “or Doggo, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came walking,

And so faintly you came trotting, trotting ‘cross my chamber floor,

That I barely thought I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—

            Darkness there and nothing more.

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Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the quiet was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only words here spoken was the whispered phrase, “Y’there?”

That I whispered, and a ghost echoed back the phrase, “Y’there!”—

            Merely this and nothing more.

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Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me swirling,

Soon again I heard a trotting somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something with my neighbor’s rabbits;

Let me see, then, what the thing is, and the bun unwished for—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

            ’Tis the bun and nothing more!”

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“Open now!” I yeet the shutters, when, with many a merp and splutters,

In there stepped a chubby catto with big floofy paws (count four);

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Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or mewed he;

But, with air of lord or lady, leaped above my kitchen door—

Perched upon a bust of Vader just above my kitchen door—

            Perched, and blep’d, and nothing more.

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Then this chubbo cat beguiling my sad brainwaves into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though yer tongue be out and flouted, I,” said I, “have been trespass-ed,

Floofy cute and derpy feline wandering in from the neighbor’s door—

Tell me what yer handsome name is on the collar that you wore!”

            Quoth the catto “Feed me more.”

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Much I marvelled this unfriendly catto to speak his want so plainly,

Though his answer spoken meowing—little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing Cat above their kitchen door—

Bird or beast upon the painted bust above their kitchen door,

            With such a name as “Feed me more.”

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But the catto, sitting lonely on the painted bust, spoke only

Those three words, as if his soul in that one phrase he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he uttered—not a whisker then he fluttered—

Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have gone before.”

            Then the cat said “Feed me more.”

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Startled at the stillness broken by demand so curtly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what he utters is- is only meow, no more

Which I’m hearing with the aid of booze and things not legal to speak of

Followed fast and followed faster till my brain just needs to snore—

Till the urges of my mind that strange concoction bore

            Of ‘Feed—feed me more’.”

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But the feline still beguiling all my brainwaves into smiling,

Straight I screeched a cushioned seat in front of floof, and bust, and door;

Then, upon the cotton sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this chub cat had in store—

What this cute, derpy, floofy, chonk and motionless cat of your...

            Meant in meowing “Feed me more.”

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This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the cat whose derpy eyes now burned into my soul’s true core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion’s cotton lining that the lamp-light flickered o’er,

But whose (polyester) lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

            She shall chew, ah, never more!

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Then, I thought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen cinder

Sparking from a fire I imagined in my flatmate’s toaster

“Floof,” I cried, “already fed thee—by the neighbors bun I here see

Killer— a murderer of rabbits I bet you are;

Go, oh flee before the neighbors arrive at my door!”

            Quoth the catto “Feed me more.”

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“Catto!” said I, “Bringer of death!—Floofer still, if cat or killer!—

Whether somehow sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all unwanted, on this desert land enchanted—

On this flat by felines haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—there a live bun next door?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

            Quoth the catto “Feed me more.”

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“Catto!” said I, “Bringer of death!—Floofer still, if cat or killer!

By that lamp that shines bright above us—by the shrimp we both adore—

Tell this soul with headache laden if, on the distant horizon,

I shall find a spotted hoppy bun who the neighbors named Centaur—

Find a rare expensive hoppy bun who the neighbors named Centaur.”

            Quoth the catto “Feed me more.”

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“Be that word our sign of parting, cat or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee back into the alley and the night’s quite starry shore!

Leave no black fur as a token of the want yer soul has spoken!

Leave my hangover unbroken!—leave the bust above my door!

Take yer blep from out my heart, and take yer form from off my door!”

            Quoth the catto “Feed me more.”

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And the floofer, never blinking, still is sitting, still is merping

On the painted bust of Vader just above my kitchen door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a feline’s that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o’er him streaming shows his dandruff on the floor;

And my soul from out that catto that lies bleping on the door

            Shall be lifted—never more!

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