Анна Летиция Уоринг (Anna Laetitia Waring)

To the Superior Animal

  To sum up all, I'm old — and that's
      A fact the years decide;
  It is a common thing with cats
      And not a thing to hide.

  But to feel what it is — how kind
      How true to love and law
  For this you must be quite resigned
      And not avoid its paw.

  It does not come as reckless foe
      A shrinking prey to take,
  But with soft footstep that we know
      By comfort in its wake.

  Though it spoils something — that is true,
      Which we must learn to lack
  And takes alike from me and you
      What never does come back.

  It caters for our failing strength
      In many a dainty scrap,
  And gently lays us at our length
      In some secluded lap.

  It may bless you — (I think it should)
      Beyond what I make out,
  With things perhaps too great and good
      For cats to talk about.

  Since I find in it blessing free
      From all it can destroy,
  And so its progress is to me
      A miracle of joy.

  But my look out to occupy
      And make the most of that.
  You must be quite as old as I,
      If not yourself a Cat!