A Picky Cat*

Yummiest of food, my bowl now
Is there before me yet somehow,
I meow about the kitchen floor
To ask for better food once more.

Now, late last night at half past ten,
Here this morning meow again,
And cry with shame the unjust score
Of yucky food served here once more. 

And when the man ignores my gloom,
Goes into the living room,
Alone at last I eat my meal.
Prey my tortured soul to heal.

*Hat tip to A. E. Housman

What food my lips have smacked, and where, and why*

What food my lips have smacked, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and that my bowl has lain
Empty from night till morning; but the reign
Of hunger persists tonight, that makes me try
To wake my human before I die,
And on the carpet there shows a stain
For regurgitated meals that not again
Will I eat though hungry meow and cry.

Thus out the window stands a lonely tree,
With birds I would eat one by one,
Yet my bowl is so empty as before.
I cannot say though all my meals are free,
I only know that after eating when done
A little while, that I meow and cry for more.

*Hat tip to Edna St. Vincent Millay