With apologies to Mr. Shakespeare

Is this a kitten I see before me
His belly toward my hand? Come, let me pet thee.
I touch thee not, yet long to still
Art thou not, adorable vision, purring
To invite my hand? Or art thou but
A kitten of the mind, a belly trap
Proceeding from the cute-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As the cat which once I touched.
Mine eyes are made the fools of the other senses,
Or else I await a shredding; I see thee still
And on thy claws and my arm gouts of blood,
Which was not so before.
I touch and it is done; the purr invites me
Hear it not, be wary; for it is a spell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell.

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