entering a friend's house, was "restless and uneasy" until he had seen the cat; or that, when the animal was presented, he became so absorbed in its society as to forget his hostess and her guests. But in his own home, and during his brief years of health, Baudelaire found an exquisite and soothing pleasure in the companionship of
"Those suave and puissant cats, the household's pride,
Who love the sedentary life, and glow of fire."
He sang their praises in verse as delicate as their gentle footfalls, as brilliant as their half-shut opal eyes, as mysterious as their ineffable and sphinx-like repose, which seems like the repose of centuries. He pleaded their cause with the fervour of a lover and the skill of an advocate. Their sweet and subtle charm, "lost on the vulgar," has never been more finely expressed than in the little poem called "Les Chats," which is simpler, even in its fantasies, than Baudelaire's verse is often wont to be.
"Les amoureux fervents et les savants austères
Aiment également, dans leur mûre saison,
Les chats puissants et doux, orgueil de la maison,
Qui comme eux sont frileux, et comme eux sédentaires,
"Amis de la science et de la volupté,
Ils cherchent le silence et l'horreur des ténèbres;
L'Erèbe les eut pris pour ses coursiers funèbres,
S'ils pouvaient au servage incliner leur fierté.
