THE CAT TO-DAY 289 



Yet nothing mortal may defy 

 The march of Anno Dotnini, 



Not e'en the Senior Fellow. 



" Beneath our linden shade he lies ; 

 Mere eld hath softly closed his eyes 



With late and honoured end. 

 He seems, while catless we confer, 

 To join with faint Elysian purr, 



A tutelary friend." 



We know what it is when Pussy's place is vacant, 

 and her familiar little figure no longer prowls with 

 padded footsteps around our desolate rooms. Why 

 should we miss so sorely a creature who entered 

 but sparingly into our lives, and gave us only a nig- 

 gard portion of regard ? Perhaps because the deep 

 disquiet of our souls finds something akin to rest in 

 the mere contemplation of an egotism so finely 

 adjusted to its ends. 



" You are life's true philosopher, 

 To whom all moralists are one," 



sighs a poet in the "Spectator," addressing his cat 

 with the wistful envy of a man who has been bored 

 and battered by the strenuous ethics of the day. 



" You hold your race traditions fast, 

 While others toil, you simply live, 

 And, based upon a stable past, 

 Remain a sound conservative. 



