"You eat too much." We
rather encouraged this amusing voracity, analogous to that of monkeys,
and Enjolras grew to a size and weight very uncommon among domestic
cats. Then I bethought myself of having him shaved in the style of
poodles, in order to bring out completely his leonine appearance. He
retained his mane and a long tuft of hair at the end of the tail, and I
would not swear that his thighs were not adorned with mutton-chop
whiskers like those Munito used to wear. Thus trimmed, he resembled, I
must confess, a Japanese monster much more than a lion of the Atlas
Mountains or the Cape. Never was a more extravagant fancy carried out on
the body of a living animal; his closely clipped coat allowed the skin
to show through, and its bluish tones, most curious to note, contrasted
strangely with his black mane.

Gavroche was a cat with a sharp, satirical look, as if he intended to
recall his namesake in the novel. Smaller than Enjolras, he was endowed
with abrupt and comical agility, and in the stead of the puns and slang
of the Paris street-Arab, he indulged in the funniest capers, leaps, and
attitudes. I am bound to add that, yielding to his street instincts,
Gavroche was in the habit of seizing every opportunity of leaving the
drawing-room and going off to join, in the court, and even in the public
streets, numbers of wandering cats, "of unknown blood and lineage low,"
with whom he took part in performances of doubtful taste, completely
forgetful of his dignified rank as a Havana cat, the son of the
illustrious Don Pierrot of Navarre, a grandee of Spain of the first
class, and of the Marchioness Seraphita, noted for her haughty and
aristocratic manners.

Sometimes he would bring in to his meals, in order to treat them,
consumptive friends of his, so starved that every rib in their body
showed, having nothing but skin and bones, whom he had picked up in the
course of his excursions and wanderings, for he was a kind-hearted
fellow. The poor devils, their ears laid back, their tails between their
legs, their glance restless, dreading to be driven from their free meal
by a housemaid armed with a broom, swallowed the pieces two, three, and
four at a time, and like the famous dog, _Siete Aguas_ (Seven Waters),
of Spanish posadas, would lick the platter as clean as if it had been
washed and scoured by a Dutch housekeeper who had served as model to
Mieris or Gerard Dow. Whenever I saw Gavroche's companions, I
remembered th