Lord Fortescue ruffles my fur:
I narrow my eyes, and I purr.
We sprawl on the sofa
One lazy old loafer
And one upper-crust bon viveur.

People become like their pets, as the saying goes. Doubtless a similar – albeit opposite – belief is held among cats. Time is running out in mankind’s search for the ‘Reciprocal Osmotic Gradient’ – the so-called ‘Grand Scheme’ – by which our shabby race can live in balance with the remaining non-human animals on the planet. Improbably, however, the present poem depicts a member of the Hunting Classes achieving exactly that symmetry.