me. I've
already begun to thicken and embellish my fur-coat in its honor, the
darker stripes are becoming black, my white tippet swells into a
dazzling boa, and the fur on my belly surpasses in beauty anything that
has ever been seen. What shall I say of my tail, broad as a club, with
alternate rings of fawn-color and black, or of the sensitive, priceless
aigrettes which spring from my ears? My ear-rings She calls them....
What cat could resist me! Ah! the January nights, the serenades under a
frosty moon, the dignified wait on the pinnacle of a roof, the encounter
with a rival cat on the narrow top of a wall!... But I feel quite sure
of my superior strength. I'll swish my tail, put back my ears, sniff
tragically as one does before vomiting, and then lift up my voice--its
modulations are infinite. I'll make it strong enough to waken all the
sleeping Two-Paws. I'll vociferate, I'll whimper, pacing up and down the
garden, my body distended, my legs bent outward, feigning madness to
terrify the tom-cats!

TOBY-DOG

I know something of the changes and pleasures you foretell, Fire--for
I'm a Dog. Already, it is raining in the garden. I suppose it's raining
on the road too, and in the woods. The falling drops are not warm, as
they were in the summer storms when my truffle, gray with dust,
delighted in the damp smell that came from the west. The sky is troubled
and the wind has grown strong enough to blow my ears out straight, like
little flags. A sharp cry, such as I make when I beg, comes under the
door. You'll be shining here every day, Fire; but I'll have to suffer
for the right to worship you. For She'll continue to wander about, her
head covered with the pointed hood which changes her so, that it
frightens me. She'll put on wooden shoes too, and carelessly crush the
puddles, the little heaps of mud, and the weeping mosses. I'll follow
her, since I've promised to do so my life long (and also because I
can't help it), I'll follow her, a forlorn and piteous object, shining
wet, my belly covered with mud, until, through very excess of misery
I'll forget, and ramble in the coppice, interested in every undulation
of the grass, eager to revive the drowned scents in it.... She'll become
communicative when she sees me hurrying along and we'll talk: "Ha,
Toby-Dog," she'll say, "ha! ha! a bird! There on the branch! Look! you
booby! Now he's gone." She'll condole with me then, until I'm on the
verge of tears. "Oh, my little black