"the sleek, fur-coated forager"

By Archibald Cameron of Edinburgh (d. 1887), who wrote poems to while away his bedridden days; he had been paralyzed by rheumatism, except for some use of his right hand.

A PLEA FOR PUSSY

I do not soar to giddy heights 

To flatter prince or king; 

My theme is one of low degree, 

In Pussy's cause I sing: 

The sleek, fur-coated forager,

Sly tenant of the hearth, 

A target for mischevous youth, 

Fond cause of childish mirth.

What slanders, libels, cuffs and kicks 

Thick on her shoulders fall,

Things broken, stolen, or mislaid— 

Grimalkin's blamed for all. 

Her stomach must be wonderful, 

Such various things to gorge; 

Tarts, jewels, jams, and crockery 

Are all laid to her charge. 

She sometimes scratches, and is oft 

Engaged in fierce combats; 

Yet I've heard of scratches given 

By other things than cats. 

'Tis just because she is a cat

She cannot understand, 

The reason she one minute bites, 

The next one licks your hand.

Instinct, not reason, is her guide,

Though oftentimes we see 

The case reversed—see reason err, 

And man the brute, not she.

Ill-use her as you will, she shows

No resentment strong; 

Next minute she is on your lap, 

Purring out her song:

Now cleansing paws, her toilet makes, 

Now left ear, now the right, 

Now with her tongue her velvet dress 

She smooths with all her might. 

Her company I'm sure you'll own

Repays a little care, 

The fireside picture's incomplete 

If tabby is not there.

With feline as with humankind, 

Kindness is the power 

That softens passion, kindles love- 

Let this be Pussy's dower.

-- from One Hundred Modern Scottish Poets: With Biographical and Critical Notices, David Herschell Edwards, ed. (1893), pp. 242-3.