Let's have a cat poem

Concerning mice and cats, Abu 'l-Shamaqmaq said (meter: khafīf):

    On the emptiness of my home, and empty
         sacks and jars where meal should be, this is my poem.
    Formerly, it was not desolate but guest-friendly,
        prosperous, and in a flourishing state.
    But now it seems that mice avoid my house
        to refuge in a nobler steading.
    The flies of my house and the crawling bugs
        all beg to hit the road, away from where
    the cat abides, and looks from side to side,
        and no mouse does it spy the whole year through.
    Its head swims up and down from extremity of hunger,
        and a life of bitterness and vexation.
    I said to the cat, when I saw its head hanging,
        downcast with its gut aflame,
  "Hang in there, kitty! best cat by far
        my eyes have ever seen!"
  "How can I hang on?" said the cat. "I cannot stay
        in a house that's empty as a wild ass's belly."
    I said, "Go on to the neighbor’s house,
        the one who brings home the fruits of commerce."
    Meanwhile, spiders fill my pots and pans
        and all my vessels with their spinning,
    and off with the dogs, in the grip of dog-fever, 
        my dog runs mad astray.

From the Book of Animals of al-Jahiz

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Another cat poem

Abu 'l-Faraj al-Isbahani (d. 967 CE), author of The Book of Songs, complained of mice and described a cat (meter: khafīf):

    On deadly watchmen with arching backs I call for aid
        against a host with tiny teeth and whiplike tails.
    Created for malevolence, nastiness and ruin,
        their degradation dates back to Creation itself.
    The holes they bore in ceilings, walls and floors
        are as galling as bodily ulcers.
    Anything comestible, they consume it.
        Nothing drinkable is safe.
    And they know all about gnawing clothes.
        My heart is pitted by the holes they gnaw.
    What brings my anguish to a pause has Turkish whiskers
        and a blue coat with leopard spots.
    In make and manners he is a lion of the thicket.
        A lion of the thicket! think all who spy him.
    Into corners of the room and along the ceiling,
        his gaze is fixed on every [mouse’s] door.
    He keeps his claws in scabbards, up until
        the landing of his pounce upon the prey.
    When he voids himself, it is in private.
        None know where it happens but the dirt.
    Some folks play dress-up games with him, put jewelry
        on him, and with henna dye him first and last.
    Sometimes he struts in bridegroom’s finery,
        other times they doll him like a bride.
    Such a lovable companion! and worthy as a friend
        above the common run of friendship, and beyond it.

From The Merits of the Housecat by Jalal al-Din al-Suyuti

In praise of the cat poet

The finesse of Abū ‘Āmir al-Jurjānī is of a kind recognized by nomads and settled folk alike. How truly did the imam ‘Abd al-Qāhir al-Jurjānī put it into words when he described him (meter: hazaj):

       If serious brilliance of appearance is what you wish for,
       and you complain your access to joy is barred,
       when desolation won't release you from its shadows,
       and you would clear the torpor from your inner eyes,
       confer with him whose flint throws inspiration,
       and in the keenness of his discernment you'll find the spark
       and all the perspicacity that you sought.
       His [guidance] suffices, and you won't reject it,
             nor complain of his answer.
       On the contrary! Betake yourself to him and you'll find success
       in al-Faḍl ibn Ismā‘īl, and be left wishing for no other man.

From The Statue of the Palace of al-Bākharzī

Medieval cat poem

Abu ‘Amir al-Fadl ibn Isma‘il al-Tamimi al-Jurjani (mid-to-late 5th century A.H./11th c. CE) described his cat (meter: khafīf):

         I have a cat whose foot-pads I dye with henna
             before I put henna on my own newborns.
         Then I tie cowrie shells to her collar
             to repel the harm of evil eyes.
         Each day, before I feed my family, I see that she gets
             our choicest meats and purest waters.
         The playful thing. When she sees
             my face contorted in a frown,
         sometimes she sings, sometimes she dances,
             sparing no exertion for my diversion’s sake.
         I care nothing for the fire’s warmth when she lies with me
             in the chill of winter's longest nights.
         When I give her scratches, she gives me licks
             with a tongue toothed like the surface of a file.
         If I avoid her, she fawns on me,
             wheedling with her little high-pitched moans.
         If I give her trouble she will show me her claws,
             a sight that gives the eyes no pleasure.
         When she plays with a mouse, she is at her saltiest
             for she puts him through "humiliating punishment." *
         When he faints from terror, she busies herself
             in batting him awake with a left and a right.
         She teases him with feigned inattention, then
             swoops like a falcon when he tries to creep away.
         Just when he dares hope for peace from her,
             those hopes are dashed with a serpent’s liveliness.
         In this way do the decrees of fate ruin a man
             and finish him with a cut to the aorta,
         just when, amid the lively gathering,
             he takes the cup of destiny from a server.

*Qur'an 2:90, 3:178, 4:14 et passim.

From The Merits of the Housecat by Jalal al-Din al-Suyuti