Once upon a Sunday morning, while I wondered, heeding warning,

Over many a pink square and stitching patches of mindless chore,

While I hummed, slowly patching, suddenly there came a latching,

As of someone lightly scratching, scratching at my kitchen door.

" ‘Tis my neighbor," I stuttered, "scratching at my kitchen door;

Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, vividly I recall, it was in the breezy fall,

And both flora and fauna died upon the forest floor.

Desperately I clung to hope, trying hard to sever rope

And wishing, wishing I could cope, cope for Sprinkles Poor

For the kind and soulful kitten who’s blocked from heaven’s door,

Stone cold dead forevermore.

And the charming quiet pawings underneath my drawings

Scared me---made me feel an unnerving hope never felt before;

So that now, to stop the shaking of my hands, I stood there quaking,

" 'Tis my neighbor scratching scratches at my kitchen door,

Some nosy neighbor scratching scratches at my kitchen door.

This it is, and nothing more."

Suddenly my courage rose, didn’t want to keep the kitchen closed.

"Miss, " I said “or mister, I beg forgiveness to the core;

But the fact is, I was patching, and so loudly you came scratching,

And so wildly you came scratching, scratching at my kitchen door,

That I couldn’t help ignore you.” Fully opened, the kitchen door;

Junk mail there, and nothing more.

Down the driveway I looked, staring, hoping, hoping!, wishing, caring

Aspiring aimless ideas no accounts ever aimed to aspire before.

Though no one stood before the door, there was this feeling I couldn’t ignore,

And the single phrase that soared was the quiet phrase,

Sprinkles Poor? This I uttered, and the reverberating silence shuttered,

"Sprinkles Poor?” Merely this, and nothing more.

Returning to my kitchen chair, the crying soul inside me bare,

Once again I heard a scratching, scratching wilder than before,

“Of course,” I said, “of course, that is someone at my kitchen door.

Pray to God, then, I’ll explore, to find the scratching at my door.

Pray to God, my hands stop shaking and find the scratching at my door.

“ ‘Tis some brat, and nothing more.”

Finally I pushed the knob, and from me escaped a sob,

Through the door came a small barn cat, looking shaken to the core.

He made to disrespect me; He couldn’t wait to subject me,

With the gall to come in my hall, he curled up by my kitchen door.

Curled up on a rug all snug, just next to my kitchen door,

Curled, and gazed, and nothing more.

Then this scrawny kitten yawning brought within me a new dawning,

By the brown and silver splotches of the dirty fur it wore,

"Though your coat’s becoming mat, you," I said, "are no barn brat,

Bubbly, bright, and quiet barn cat, escaping from your owner’s floor.

Tell me what your lovely name is when on your grieving owner’s floor."

Quoth the Barn Cat, “Nevermore.”

I was shocked at this word said, and I couldn’t get it through my head.

It’s answer left me reeling, from a being with legs four;

For I am certain I’m not lying when I say I was implying

That a talking cat was curled up by my kitchen door,

Cat or angel curled up on my rug all snug by my kitchen door,

With quite name as "Nevermore."

But the barn cat, curled up kingly on that rug all snug, said singly

That one word, it was from only that one word I then could swore.

Not another word he spoke; not I another word provoke;

And then a word I could choke, "Other cats have died before;

And tomorrow you will leave me, as my love has died before."

Then the cat said, "Nevermore."

Weary of the answer given, so my statement was so driven,

"I’m sure” I said, “that it’s word is its only roar,

Imitating his old owner, who solely was the donor,

Repeating rapid, repeating rapid, till Cat made its score,

Till Cat created his scratching-speaking score

Of "Never---nevermore."

Though his coat’s becoming mat, he, I thought, is no barn brat,

I pulled the Bible and wooden chair in front of cat and kitchen door;

Then, upon the hard wood sitting, I surprised me by permitting

The cat on the rug, submitting to ask what this kitten poor,

What this cute, and kindly, kingly, calm and smitten kitten poor

Meant in purring "Nevermore."

So I sat and kept on thinking, and my doubts were not shrinking

‘Bout the cat, whose soulful gaze struck me to my frozen core;

Of this and much more I pondered, while my fingers wandered,

Tracing scratched out gouges that my Sprinkles made in war,

But whose scratched out gouges that my Sprinkles made in war,

Sha’nt be scratched, nevermore!

Then, I thought, my place got warmer, as if by a fire performer,

Marked by paper burning, spreading sparks and sparks galore.

"Cat," I said, "our God has sent you -- by some grace he has

Sent you to stop, stop! and save me from my memories of Sprinkles Poor!

Stop, please stop and help me to forget my Sprinkles Poor!"

Quoth the Barn Cat, "Nevermore!"

"Mutt, who,” I yelled, "none will want! Mutt, who feels the need to haunt!

Whether you got lost, or whether your owner joined the Corps,

Away, enlisted under Landon, and left you here abandoned

On this street called Sycamore, tell me please, don’t ignore:

Will I-- Will I forget my Sprinkles Poor? If you tell me, I’ll adore!"

Quoth the Barn Cat, "Nevermore."

"Mutt, who,” I yelled, "none will want! Mutt, who feels the need to haunt!

By that wide cat heaven in the sky, by God who keeps the score,

Tell my soul, who’s hollowed and gaunt, if, within a lengthy jaunt,

A cat heaven exists and there resides a Sprinkles Poor?

The kind and soulful kitten who can’t be blocked from heaven’s door?

Quoth the Barn Cat, "Nevermore."

“So away, you unsightly cat, you spirit!” I yelled, I feared it,

“Go back to your home and to your grieving owner’s floor!

Don’t leave a paw print to remind of your stupid lie, unkind!

Leave me far behind, get off the rug next to my door!

Remove your claws from my soul, and get yourself outside my door!”

Quoth the Barn Cat, "Nevermore."

And the barn cat, never catching, still is scratching, still is scratching

Seated on the rug all snug just next to my kitchen door;

And his eyes paws are spreading germ, and it’s true, I can confirm.

And my heart grows colder the more he mewls his roar,

And I can’t imagine Sprinkles never sitting on the floor,

That she’ll be here Nevermore!