'Tis false that all of pussy's race
Regard not person but the place,
For here lies one, who, could she tell
Her stories by some magic spell
Would from the quitted barn and grove,
Her sporting haunts, to show her love
At sound of footsteps absent long
Of those she soothed with purring song,
Leap to their arms in fond embrace,
For love of them, and not for place.
Earl St.Vincent.
From the tombstone of a cat,
Meaford Hall, near Stone, Staffordshire, England.
