Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones—In fact, he’s remarkably fat.He doesn’t haunt pubs—he has eight or nine clubs,For he’s the St. James’s Street Cat!He’s the Cat we all greet…

‘A cold coming we had of it,Just the worst time of the yearFor a journey, and such a journey:The ways deep and the weather sharp,The very dead of winter.’And the…

I In my beginning is my end. In successionHouses rise and fall, crumble, are extended,Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their placeIs an open field, or a factory, or a…

And the trees about me,      Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks      Groan with continual surges; and behind me      Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches! Paint me a cavernous waste…

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.All day she sits upon the stair or…

GROWLTIGER was a Bravo Cat, who lived upon a barge;In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,Rejoicing…

Thou hast committed—       Fornication: but that was in another country,       And besides, the wench is dead.                                         The Jew of Malta. I Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoonYou…

Apeneck Sweeney spreads his kneesLetting his arms hang down to laugh,The zebra stripes along his jawSwelling to maculate giraffe. The circles of the stormy moonSlide westward toward the River Plate,Death…

Le garcon delabre qui n’a rien a faireQue de se gratter les doigts et se pencher sur mon epaule:  ‘Dans mon pays il fera temps pluvieux,  Du vent, du grand soleil, et…

Gus is the Cat at the Theatre Door.His name, as I ought to have told you before,Is really Asparagus. That’s such a fussTo pronounce, that we usually call him just…