The other night as I lay musing, and my weary brain confusing o’er the topics of the day, suddenly I heard the rattling, as of serious hosts a-battling, as they mingled in the fray. “What’s that?” I cried, upstarting, and into the darkness darting, slap! I ran against the door. “Oh, ’tis naught,” young Hornet grumbled, as o’er a huge arm-chair, I stumbled, “’tis a flea, and nothing more.” “Then,” said I, my anger rising, for I thought it so surprising that a flea should thus offend, “do you think a small insect, sir, thus would all the air infect, sir? No, ’tis not a flea, my friend.”
Now becoming sorely frightened, round my waist my pants I tightened, and put on my coat and hat, and into the darkness peering, I saw, with trembling and much fearing, the glaring eyes of Thomas Cat, Esq.
With astonishment and wonder I gazed upon this son of thunder, as he sat upon the floor, when resolution taking, a rapid movement making, lo! I opened wide the door. “Now clear out,” I hoarsely shouted, as o’er my head my boot I flouted; “take your presence from my floor!” Then, with air and mien majestic, this creature, called domestic, made his exit through the door. Made his exit without growling, neither was his voice heard howling, not a single word he said. — And with feelings much elated, to escape a doom so fated, I went back to my bed.
Return to the Quaint and Curious index for more pastiches and parodies of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”.