My cat does never love me, much, This wondrous one, with velvet touch, Whose mystic gaze reflects disdain, For those who enter his domain. He leaps at butterflies, in play, And roams contented through the day, Until my greeting gives him cause to flex, and undulate, his claws. Now, I am old, and love has fled, I crave a warm and willing touch, But though I brush him, keep him fed, My cat does never love me, much.