DeFrosted Cat

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Feeling too weak to compose anything original.

So, here is a wonderful parody (sent by Aniket) and the original below it.

The mills of the 'wit' grind slowly but grind superfine; all is grist to his impartial mills.

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Sitting by the Fire on A Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost's Cat from POETRY FOR CATS by Henry Beard
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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. ***********************************************************

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

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Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

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