Robert Frost's Cat

Sitting by the Fire on a Snowy Evening
by
Robert Frost's Cat

Whose chair this is by now I know,
He's somewhere in the forest though;
He will not see me sitting here
A place I'm not supposed to go.

He really is a little queer
To leave his fire's cozy cheer
And ride out by the frozen lake
The coldest evening of the year.

To love the snow it takes a flake;
The chill that makes your footpads ache,
The drifts too high to lurk or creep,
The icicles that drip and break.

His chair is comfy, soft and deep.
But I have got an urge to leap,
And mice to catch before I sleep.
And mice to catch before I sleep.



source: Poetry for Cats, by Henry Beard , 1994