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CHAPTER VII
THE CAT TRIUMPHANT
"He stood, an ebon crescent, flouting that ivory moon,
Then raised the pibroch of his race, the Song without a Tune."
OUT of the murky shadows which shroud the cat during long centuries of passive neglect or active persecution, there gleam here and there flashes of brilliant light in which we see her sheltered by those whose protection was an honour, cherished by those whose love was a consecration. In Italy, poets as well as painters felt the sweet charm of her companionship, and strove to give their sympathy expression. Tasso addressed to his cat a sonnet brimming with tender flattery; and of Petrarch's pet it has been prettily said that she was her master's joy in the sunshine, his solace
