He
was called "Micetto." According to Chateaubriand's biographer, M. de
Marcellus, "Pope Leo XII's cat could not fail to reappear in the
description of that domestic hearth where I have so often seen him
basking. In fact, Chateaubriand has immortalized his favorite in the
sketch which begins, 'My companion is a big cat, of a greyish red.'"
This ecclesiastical pet was always dignified and imposing in manners,
ever conscious that he had been the gift of a sovereign pontiff, and had
a tremendous weight of reputation to maintain. He used to stroke his
tail when he desired Madame Recamier to know that he was tired.
"I love in the cat," said Chateaubriand to M. de Marcellus, "that
independent and almost ungrateful temper which prevents it from
attaching itself to any one: the indifference with which it passes from
the salon to the house-top. When you caress it, it stretches itself out
and arches its back, indeed: but that is caused by physical pleasure,
not, as in the case of the dog, by a silly satisfaction in loving and
being faithful to a master who returns thanks in kicks. The cat lives
alone, has no need of society, does not obey except when it likes, and
pretends to sleep that it may see the more clearly, and scratches
everything that it can scratch. Buffon has belied the cat: I am laboring
at its rehabilitation, and hope to make of it a tolerably good sort of
animal, as times go."
Cardinal Wolsey, Lord High Chancellor of England, was another cat-lover,
and his superb cat sat in a cushioned arm-chair by his side in the
zenith of his pride and power, the only one in that select circle who
was not obliged to don a wig and robe while acting in a judicial
capacity.
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