No cats care their kin reigned, gods of
Egypt,
Or in baskets burned at the witches'
trials;
No cats quote from Jellicle Eliot,
Or bellow back Andrew Lloyd-Webber's
bile.
Cats seem contented with sunbeams and
mice
And nibbles, and knocking things off
high shelves,
And had I a century, I confess
I doubt I'd find presence to live so
well.
Yet a cat pays a price to lack cogness,
And I pay, as well, by knowing this
fine
Little kitten, purring now by my breast
Shall lay in my arms limp, in its good
time.
Whatever you're born, in this you must
trust,
All are made equal, returning to dust.
