Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

June 24, 2004

On Loving and Liking

Childhood's a brief sport in hunting, and if
the child at hand is not one of the pack,
it's fitting that he may befriend a like thing,
and become blood and claw at one with a cat.
As instinct is neither wayward nor blind,
the child takes to heart her soft paw and rough tongue,
and finds something else of the fierce they've in kind:
a wildness, a walking alone, and a song.
And together apart they make a strange choir
forever as soft as the throb of the lyre.

On the passing away today of Blaine's Kitty, at the age of approximately twenty-one about 100 human years' worth of companionship. (A gloss on Wordsworth's Loving and Liking, and Kipling's cats.)

Posted by Delire at June 24, 2004 05:21 PM
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