Gratitude / Edith Nesbit

I found a starving cat in the street:

It cried for food and a place by the fire.

I carried it home, and I strove to meet

The claims of its desire.

And since its desire was a little fish,

A little hay and a little milk,

I gave it cream in a silver dish

And a basket lined with silk.

And when we came to the grateful pause

When it should have fawned on the hand that fed,

It turned to a devil all teeth and claws,

Scratched me and bit me and fled.

To pay for the fish and the milk and the hay

With a purr had been an easy task:

But its hate and my blood were required to pay

For the gifts that it did not ask.