That is like Hood at his best; but it is, moreover, penetrated with a profound andtrue appreciation of the fundamental idea that all love of the cat must be foundedon the absurdity of the cat, and only thus can a morbid idolatry be avoided. Perhapsthose who appeared to be witches were those old ladies who took their cats tooseriously. The cat in this book is called "Four-Paws," which is as jolly as a gargoyle.But the name of the cat must be something familiar and even jeering, if it be onlyTom or Tabby or Topsy: something that shows man is not afraid of it. Otherwise thename of the cat will be Pasht.But when the same poet comes accidentally across an example of the insaneseriousness about animals that some modern "humanitarians" exhibit, she turnsagainst the animal-lover as naturally and instinctively as she turns to the animal. Awriter on a society paper had mentioned some rich woman who had appeared onCup Day "gowned" in some way or other, and inserted the tearful parenthesis that"she has just lost a dear dog in London." The real animal-lover instantly recognizesthe wrong note, and dances on the dog's grave with a derision as unsympathetic asSwift:
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