Old Pussy-cat if he won’t eat, he don’t

feel good into his tum’, old Pussy-cat.

He wants to have eaten.

Tremor, heaves, he sweaterings. He can’t.

A dizzy swims of where is Henry at;

… somewhere streng verboten.

How come he sleeps & sleeps and sleeps, waking like death:

locate the restorations of which we hear

as of profound sleep.

From daylight he got maintrackt, from friends’ breath,

wishes, his hopings. Dreams make crawl with fear

Henry but not get up.

The course his mind his body steer, poor Pussy-cat,

in weakness & disorder, will see him down

whiskers & tail.

‘Wastethrift’: Oh one of cunning wives know that

he hoardy-squander, where is nor downtown

neither suburba. Braille.