THE CAT 



A Poet's Kitten 



I have a kitten, my dear, the drollest of all 

 creatures that ever wore a cat's skin. Her gam- 

 bols are incredible, and not to be described. She 

 tumbles head over heels several times together. 

 She lays her cheek to the ground, and humps her 

 back at you with an air of most supreme disdain. 

 From this posture she rises to dance on her hind 

 feet, an exercise which she performs with all the 

 grace imaginable; and she closes these various ex- 

 hibitions with a loud smack of her lips, which, for 

 want of greater propriety of expression, we call 

 spitting. But, though all cats spit, no cat ever 

 produced such a sound as she does. In point of 

 size, she is likely to be a kitten always, being ex- 

 tremely small for her age ; but time, that spoils all 

 things, will, I suppose, make her also a cat. You 

 will see her, I hope, before that melancholy period 

 shall arrive ; for no wisdom that she may gain by 

 experience and reflection hereafter will compensate 

 for the loss of her present hilarity. She is dressed 

 in a tortoise-shell suit, and I know that you will 

 delight in her. 



William Cowper to Lady Hesheth. 



15 



