A prayer to the herbs

      To you, O powerful herbs, this is my prayer,
      and to the parent who gifted all of you
      to all [of us], her majesty the engendering Earth.
      Unto you she willed her majesty,
      and curative remedies to be of use
      and dependable help to every kind of person.
      I am a suppliant. This is my plea. Come swiftly
      with your potencies to this place! For she
      who begat [you] gave me leave to harvest you,
      and he to whom the healer's art was given
      also approves. With kindly remedy
      support well-being's cause, to the maximum
      capacity of your powers. Grace me with them, I pray,
      so that whatever I make of you,
      or whomever I may treat, you take effect quickly
      and lead to beneficial results. [I pray] that I
      always be licensed to harvest you............
      and give thanks to you, and credit you with the outcome,
      in the name of the Mother who commanded you to be born.

Anonymous 

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