At midnight's stroke, On the first Christmas, half the world awoke. Then out of nest and lair Came thronging to Bethlehem the wordless folk; Hurried the beasts of the forest, the birds of the air, To pay the Lord their homage and His due.
And Cat came, too, Mincing on delicate feet to see the Child. But being shy and wild, Approached no nearer than the hearth; lay dumb And distant there. While the rest knelt in praise, The Cat by too much glory overcome Could not withdraw her gaze From the Nativity; could only stare Through slitted eyes as things of fur and feather (The deer beside the lion, the pheasant, the hare Safe in the fox's paws) bent down together. Although their anthems lifted all around, She, in her throat, made only a trembling sound And could not bow her head.
Yet as the morning dawned And one by one the other creatures fled Each to his habitat-- The eagle to his crag and to his pond The otter--only Cat Remained beside the dying fire, unable To quit the place that was both Crib and Stable.
Then Mary spoke aloud. "Dear Cat," she said, "dear, stiff-necked, proud And obstinate beast, I bless you. From this hour Leave wilderness behind you. Because you stayed, though none shall have the power To call you servant, yet the hearth shall bind you Forever to itself. Both fond and free, Wherever Man is, you shall also be. And many a family Will smile to hear you singing (where you settle) Household hosannahs like a pulsing kettle."
Some winter night Observe Cat now. Her eyes will suddenly gleam Yellow against the light, Her body shudder in a jungle dream, Her claws unsheath their sharpness. She remembers Old times, old barbarous customs, old Decembers Before she called the tribes of Man her friends. But the dream ends. Then, reassured, she curls herself along The floor and hums her cool, domestic song.
