The Cat that Crept into a Crypt

A tomcat fretted; he was trapped a crypt,
Whilst led lined caskets all around him dripped.
No ghost or ghoul or demon did he find;
Nor rat or Raven or three mice blind.

Franticly pacing on a stone-cold floor,
Pitifully scratching at the padlocked door.
Pitch-black nothing with naught to see;
Solitary confinement; just couldn't break free

Owl’s still waiting by a pea green boat,
To sail with her dearest; in the warm furry coat,
And “Here kitty, kitty” they’ll be calling back home,
Milk’s turning sour, and puppy’s stole your throne.

Portly little kitty; that's so under fed,
Calm yourself down or you’ll wake the dead.
You shouldn't really cringe, or hiss with fear,
One of those nine lives will get you out of there.