“I have a kitten, the drollest of all creatures that ever wore a cat’s skin.”
People of good sense will agree with William Cowper. Drollery is a precious virtue, evidence of sanity, though the poet was sometimes crazy enough to be locked up. He is writing to his cousin, Lady Hesketh, on this date, November 10, in 1787. If cats are droll, dogs are farcical. Both make excellent companions but dogs are needy, eager to please and try too hard. That suits some people. But subservience is no substitute for aristocratic hauteur. Superior people choose cats – Montaigne, Dr. Johnson, Colette.
A year ago we had Hurricane euthanized. It still hurts to say that. We had him for fourteen years. Early in May we acquired two kittens – Coltrane and Sushi. Both are female and eight months old, one black, one calico:
Cowper doesn’t reveal his kitten’s name but continues: “Her gambols are not to be described, and would be incredible, if they could. In point of size she is likely to be a kitten always, being extremely small of her age, but time, I suppose, that spoils every thing, will 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 the loss of her present hilarity. She is dressed in a tortoise-shell suit, and I know that you will delight in her.”
Cowper’s right about the passing of kittenhood, though cats, of course, have no innocence to lose.
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