Once upon a midnight dreary, Edgar wandered, weak and weary,
A cat abandoned—thrown from a car—according to the local lore.
While a woman nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at her home’s back door.
“‘Tis some visitor,” she muttered, “tapping at my home’s back door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Open here she flung the shutter, when, with many a purr and mutter,
In there stepped a stately cat of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, crossed the threshold through the door—
Perched upon a cushy armchair, Edgar showed he should be there,
Warm, and cozy, and nothing more.
Then this ebony cat beguiling her sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and solemn decorum of the countenance he wore,
“Though thou be lost and in peril, thou,” she said, “art sure no feral.”
Ghastly, grim fate awaits cats wandering along the Nightly shore—
But alas the woman could keep the raven-haired cat no more,
Thus she summoned PETA, and they came to her door.
But the cat, sitting apprehensive in the PETA van, had no way
of perceiving that his lonely days were leaving.
Then one look, as if his soul in that one gaze he did outpour,
“How much farther must I roam, until I find a loving home?”
His eyes scarcely more than muttered: “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow they will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the PETA fieldworker smiled and said, “Nevermore.”
If Edgar Allan Purr has captured your tell-tale heart, get out your quill pen and address a missive to [email protected] to learn about ushering him into your home.