Dozing, and dozing, and dozing!
Pleasant enough,
Dreaming of sweet cream and mouse-meat.
Delicate stuff!
Of raids on the pantry and hen-coop,
Or light, stealthy tread
Of cat gossips, meeting by moonlight
On ridge-pole or shed.
Waked by a somersault, whirling,
Whirling from cushion to floor;
Waked from a wild rush of safety
From window to door.
Waking two hands that first smooth us,
And then pull our tails;
Punished with slaps when we show them
The length of our nails!
These big mortal tyrants even grudge us
A place on the mat.
Do they think we enjoy for our music
Staccatos of "scat?"
What in the world were we made for?
Man, do you know?
By you to be petted, tormented?
Are you friend or foe?
To be treated now, just as you treat us,
The question is pat,
To take just our chances in living,
Would you be a cat?

LUCY LARCOM.