and was
never seen by any of his early friends again. Poor Morris, we never knew
his fate!

One cat we named Snowball, just because he was so black. This cat was an
unprincipled thief, and all unknown to us a person who disliked cats in
general, and thieving cats in particular, killed Snowball.

We once owned an old cat and her daughter, and when the mother had
several kittens and the daughter had but one, the grandmother stole the
daughter's kitten, and though the young mother cried piteously she never
regained possession of her child. Again, once when our brother was
ploughing he overturned a rabbit's nest, and taking the young rabbits
therefrom he gave them to the cat, who had just been robbed of her
kittens. Pussy was at once devoted to these babies, and cared for them
tenderly, never for a moment neglecting them. Nevertheless, they died,
one by one; their foster mother's care was not the kind they needed.

Of all our cats we speak most tenderly of Friskie. She was brought when
a kitten to our farm home, and if ever cat deserved eulogy it was she. A
small cat with black coat and white breast and legs, not particularly
handsome, but thoroughly good and very intelligent. The children played
with her as they would; she was never known to scratch them, but would
show her disapproval of any rough handling by a tap with her tiny velvet
paw. She was too kind to scratch them.

Friskie grew up with Trip, our little black and tan dog, and though Trip
was selfish with her, Friskie loved him and showed her affection in
various ways. If the dog came into the house wet with dew or rain the
dear little cat would carefully dry him all off with her tongue, and
though he growled at her for her officiousness she would persevere till
the task was accomplished, and then the two would curl up behind the
stove and together take a nap.

When we became the owner of a canary, Friskie at once showed feline
propensities; she wanted that bird, and saw no reason why she should be
denied it. But when, from various tokens, Friskie learned that we
valued it, she never again evinced any desire for the canary. And when,
afterward, we raised a nest of birdlings, the little cat never attempted
to touch them; no, not even when one flew out of doors and alighted
almost at her feet. Instead of seizing it, Friskie watched us as we
captured and returned it to the cage.

The writer of this story became ill with extreme prostration, and now
Friskie sh