inkled prunes devoid of succulence, and boxes of starch and
candles. Its only ornament is the cat, and his beauty is more apparent
to the artist than to the fancier. His splendid stripes, black and
grey and tawny, are too wide for noble lineage. He has a broad
benignant brow, like Benjamin Franklin's; but his brooding eyes,
golden, unfathomable, deny benignancy. He is large and sleek,--the
grocery mice must be many, and of an appetizing fatness,--and I
presume he devotes his nights to the pleasures of the chase. His days
are spent in contemplation, in a serene and wonderful stillness,
which isolates him from the bustling vulgarities of the street.

Past the window streams the fretful crowd; in and out of the shop
step loud-voiced customers. The cat is as remote as if he were
drowsing by the waters of the Nile. Pedestrians pause to admire him,
and many of them endeavour, with well-meant but futile familiarity,
to win some notice in return. They tap on the window pane, and say,
"Halloo, Pussy!" He does not turn his head, nor lift his lustrous
eyes. They tap harder, and with more ostentatious friendliness. The
stone cat of Thebes could not pay less attention. It is difficult
for human beings to believe that their regard can be otherwise than
flattering to an animal; but I did see one man intelligent enough
to receive this impression. He was a decent and a good-tempered young
person, and he had beaten a prolonged tattoo on the glass with the
handle of his umbrella, murmuring at the same time vague words of
cajolery. Then, as the cat remained motionless, absorbed in revery,
and seemingly unconscious of his unwarranted attentions, he turned
to me, a new light dawning in his eyes. "Thinks itself some," he said,
and I nodded acquiescence. As well try to patronize the Sphinx as
to patronize a grocer's cat.

Now, surely this attitude on the part of a small and helpless beast,
dependent upon our bounty for food and shelter, and upon our sense
of equity for the right to live, is worthy of note, and, to the
generous mind, is worthy of respect. Yet there are people who most
ungenerously resent it. They say the cat is treacherous and
ungrateful, by which they mean that she does not relish unsolicited
fondling, and that, like Mr. Chesterton, she will not recognize
imaginary obligations. If we keep a cat because there are mice in
our kitchen or rats in our cellar, what claim have we to gratitude?
If we keep a cat for the sake of her b