To sum up all, I'm old -- and that's A fact the years decide; It is a common thing with cats And not a thing to hide. But to feel what it is -- how kind How true to love and law For this you must be quite resigned And not avoid its paw. It does not come as reckless foe A shrinking prey to take, But with soft footstep that we know By comfort in its wake. Though it spoils something -- that is true, Which we must learn to lack And takes alike from me and you What never does come back. It caters for our failing strength In many a dainty scrap, And gently lays us at our length In some secluded lap. It may bless you -- (I think it should) Beyond what I make out, With things perhaps too great and good For cats to talk about. Since I find in it blessing free From all it can destroy, And so its progress is to me A miracle of joy. But my look out to occupy And make the most of that. You must be quite as old as I, If not yourself a Cat!