Have you ever wondered what secrets lie behind a cat’s curious gaze?
These enchanting creatures inspire words that capture their essence and whisk us into their whimsical world.
So here are 10 poems that celebrate the magical and mysterious lives of cats and capture their mystery, grace, and a bit of mischief.
Let’s dive in!
My favorite poem about cats
#1 “Kitty: What She thinks of Herself” by W. B. Rands
I am the Cat of Cats. I am
The everlasting cat!
Cunning, and old, and sleek as jam,
The everlasting cat!
I hunt the vermin in the night—
The everlasting cat!
For I see best without the light—
The everlasting cat!
I love this poem the most because it captures the mysterious nature of our feline friends, highlighting their cunning and sleekness.
I love how it paints a picture of a cat hunting at night, showcasing their grace and power.
It’s like a little reminder of how these creatures thrive in the darkness, making them seem almost magical.
9 more poems about cats
#2 “The Cat And Venus” by Walter Crane
“Might his Cat be a woman,” he said:
Venus changed her: the couple were wed:
But a mouse in her sight
Metamorphosed her quite,
And for bride, a cat found he instead.
#3 “The Game” by Oliver Herford
Watching a ball on the end of a string,
Watching it swing back and to,
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a Kitten can do.
First it goes this way, then it goes that,
Just like a bird on the wing.
And all of a tremble I crouch on the mat
Like a Lion, preparing to spring.
And now with a terrible deafening mew,
Like a Tiger I leap on my prey,
And just when I think I have torn it in two
It is up in the air and away.
#4 “The Cats Have Come To Tea” by Kate Greenaway
What did she see oh, what did she see,
As she stood leaning against the tree?
Why all the Cats had come to tea.
What a fine turn out from round about,
All the houses had let them out,
And here they were with scamper and shout.
“Mew mew mew!” was all they could say,
And, “We hope we find you well to-day.”
Oh, what should she do oh, what should she do?
What a lot of milk they would get through;
For here they were with “Mew mew mew!”
She didn’t know oh, she didn’t know,
If bread and butter they’d like or no;
They might want little mice, oh! oh! oh!
Dear me oh, dear me,
All the cats had come to tea.
#5 “The Cat” by Charles Baudelaire
Come, my fine cat, to my amorous heart;
Please let your claws be concealed.
And let me plunge into your beautiful eyes,
Coalescence of agate and steel.
When my leisurely fingers are stroking your head
And your body’s elasticity,
And my hand becomes drunk with the pleasure it finds
In the feel of electricity,
My woman comes into my mind. Her regard
Like your own, my agreeable beast,
Is deep and is cold, and it splits like a spear,
And, from her head to her feet,
A subtle and dangerous air of perfume
Floats always around her brown skin.
#6 “Cats” by Charles Baudelaire
Stiff scholars and the hody amorous
Will in their ripeness equally admire
Powerful, gende cats, pride of the house,
Who, like them, love to sit around the fire.
Friends both of sciences and of l’amour,
They seek the silent horror of the night;
Erebus wants them for his funeral corps,
But in their pride they’d never choose that fate.
They take in sleeping noble attitudes
Great sphinxes in the desert solitudes,
Who seem to be entranced by endless dreams;
Within their potent loins are magic sparks,
And flakes of gold, fine sand, are vaguely seen
Behind their mystic eyes, gleaming like stars.
#7 “The Cat That Walked By Himself” by Rudyard Kipling
Pussy can sit by the fire and sing,
Pussy can climb a tree,
Or play with a silly old cork and string
To ‘muse herself, not me.
But I like Binkie my dog, because
He knows how to behave;
So, Binkie’s the same as the First Friend was,
And I am the Man in Cave!
Pussy will play Man Friday till
It’s time to wet her paw
And make her walk on the window-sill
(For the footprint Crusoe saw)
Then she fluffles her tail and mews,
And scratches and won’t attend.
But Binkie will play whatever I choose,
And he is my true First Friend!
Pussy will rub my knees with her head
Pretending she loves me hard;
But the very minute I go to my bed
Pussy runs out in the yard,
And there she stays till the morning-light;
So I know it is only pretend;
But Binkie, he snores at my feet all night,
And he is my Firstest Friend!
#8 “Cats” by Unknown
There was a young lady whose dream
Was to feed a black cat on whipt cream,
But the cat with a bound
Spilt the milk on the ground,
So she fed a whipt cat on black cream.
#9 “Kit’s Cradle” by Juliana Horatia Ewing
They’ve taken the cosy bed away
That I made myself with the Shetland shawl,
And set me a hamper of scratchy hay,
By that great black stove in the entrance-hall.
I won’t sleep there; I’m resolved on that!
They may think I will, but they little know
There’s a soft persistence about a cat
That even a little kitten can show.
I wish I knew what to do but pout,
And spit at the dogs and refuse my tea;
My fur’s feeling rough, and I rather doubt
Whether stolen sausage agrees with me.
On the drawing-room sofa they’ve closed the door,
They’ve turned me out of the easy-chairs;
I wonder it never struck me before
That they make their beds for themselves up-stairs.
#10 “Midwife Cat” by Mark Van Doren
Beyond the fence she hesitates,
And drops a paw, and tries the dust.
It is a clearing—but she waits
No longer minute than she must.
Though a dozen foes may dart
From out the grass, she crouches by;
Then runs to where the silos start
To heave their shadows far and high.
Here she folds herself and sleeps;
But in a moment she has put
The dream aside; and now she creeps
Across the open, foot by foot,
Till at the threshold of a shed
She smells the water and the corn
Where a sow is on her bed
And little pigs are being born.
Silently she leaps, and walks
All night upon a narrow rafter;
Whence at intervals she talks
Wise to them she watches after.