From The Hill Road (1932)
There have been many cats I loved and lost,
And most of them were of the mongrel breed;
Stray felines have a mighty power to plead,
Especially when chilled by snow and frost.
No matter if by cares I am engrossed,
Somehow I feel that I should intercede,
They seem so much like human folk in need--
Like waifs by winds of hardship roughly tossed.
I think that I should not be satisfied
In heaven with harps and wings and streets of gold,
If I should hear by chance a noise outside
Like some lost kitten crying in the cold,--
How could Saint Peter think my act a sin
If I should tiptoe out and let it in?