Several feline anecdotes were related, and then the further consideration of the topic was postponed until the next evening, when Mr. Webb formed one of the party. Henry Johnson happened in during the course of the evening and contributed his share to the general fund of entertainment.

“Cats are among the earliest animals domesticated by man,” said Mr. Graham, “but possibly they are ante-dated by the horse and dog. We find these three animals appearing on the sculptures and paintings of the ancient Egyptians, by whom cats were held in the highest reverence. Temples were erected in their honor, their bodies were mummified after death, sacrifices and devotions were offered up to them, and it was customary for a family to shave off its eyebrows whenever a cat died in its house.”

“Superstitions concerning cats have descended to the present time,” Mr. Webb remarked, when Mr. Graham paused. “In the Middle Ages, they were supposed to be the familiars of witches, and a black cat was an object of dread rather than of veneration, as it was supposed to be the embodiment of Satan. Sailors formerly had a dread of cats on shipboard, as a sign of ill-luck, and to a considerable extent this belief continues among them to-day. Many people predict rain when they see a cat washing its face, and a cat-call on a housetop is by some persons held to be a sign of death. It was a current belief in the Middle Ages that a cat had nine lives, and the saying is a common one how. The prevalence of this belief has been the cause of a great many cruelties inflicted on this graceful animal.

“Cats do not usually attach themselves to persons,” continued Mr. Webb, “their preference being rather for places than individuals. This preference gave rise to the belief, which was endorsed by Buffon and other naturalists, that the cat is incapable of affection, and retains in its domesticated state its savage ferocity, which is merely disguised by cunning and restrained by selfishness. But there are many stories told, on perfectly good authority, to illustrate the affection of cats for their owners and friends, though it is proper to say that instances of personal affection are far less numerous in the cat than in the dog.”

“Dr. Johnson and Southey were fond of cats,” said Mr. Graham. “Southey declared that no house was properly furnished without a child rising three years and a kitten rising three weeks. Lord Chesterfield left a sum of money for the support of his favorite cat, Prince Krapotkine, like other famous captives, has a prison pet—a cat,—which has been a jail bird almost from its birth, and has grown to be a great favorite with the Prince. Like Sir Walter Scott's cat, this cat can do everything but talk.”

Mr. Graham then read the following from Prince Krapotkine's story of his prison life:—

“When the cat wants my door opened, it does not mew, it stretches itself to its full length and shakes the latch with its paw. If the door had another kind of fastening, it would certainly open it by raising the latch. It knows perfectly well the meaning of all the bells which ring in the prison—that to bid the inmates to rise in the morning, that which sounds before soup is served. Its dictionary is very limited, but it understands perfectly the meaning of the words it knows. Thus, in the evening when I walk in my room, it performs all sorts of gambols, and by making certain special sounds, endeavors to make me play with it at hide and seek—it plays this game exactly as children do, and insists that each party should hide in his turn—or to draw a string along for it to run after. If, in reply to its invitation to play, I say to it, 'What do you want? Food? Drink?' it is displeased, and goes with a sulky air to sit behind my little stove. But when I say, 'the string?' it replies immediately by two sounds, concerning the affirmative tone of which there can be no doubt. I could relate other instances of sagacity, but I do not wish to impose upon the credulity of your readers.

There is, however, an interesting point which it would be well to have cleared up. Are cats susceptible to music? Without being able to affirm positively, I believe they are. When my cat was little, it several times seemed to us that it found a real pleasure in listening to some air of a pleasing cadence. For example, the waltz from Faust, provided it was sung by a very high and pure voice. We even thought that music caused it to assume almost a sentimental air. It is unnecessary to say that my cat, like all others, is very susceptible to caresses, and, for I must confess its faults, to flattery. In general, cats are less intelligent than dogs, but, by care and attention, their intelligence can be highly developed. I am sorry that I have not sufficient time, or I should undertake the education of my cat by a system of cards, as proposed by Lubbock.”

“Speaking of sailors' superstitions about cats,” said Mr. Webb, “a lady told me not long ago that she bought a Persian cat in Calcutta and brought it home on a sailing ship. Every time they were becalmed the sailors would try to get her cat and throw it overboard, for they think that doing so would raise a wind.

“This is an old superstition of the mariner. It would be hard to say how it originated, but it is probable that it was originally intended as a sacrifice to Neptune, the god of the sea; as on land the gods were propitiated by the offerings of the devout, so Jack sought to calm the sea god's fury by offering him a cat. The old sailor, even in this meaning of the word 'cat's-paw.' It is simply a quaint idea of the marine, who sees in the sudden and peculiar zephyr that ruffles the water, a resemblance to the frolics of the cat. Does pussy jump around good-humoredly there will be a good breeze and fair. But when she arches her back and swells her tail, then look out, for her scowling look will be as a calm to the storm it foreshadows, and the flashes from her eyes but as sparks to the blue streaks of zig-zag lightning which will certainly soon illuminate the sky.”

“I've a story about an intelligent cat that belonged to a doctor,” said Charley. “I found it in the Tribune; it is dated at Deposit, and signed O. T. Bundy.”

All listened while Charley read the following:

“My cat, which we knew by the name of 'Peter,' was a sufferer from a large abscess on the lower jaw, directly underneath. I attempted to lance it, with what proved to be a broken pointed instrument. He cried while the attempt was being made, but did not run away from me, advanced age, regards the cat as a veritable weather gauge. The old landsman is often puzzled to account for some of the strange sea terms, and questions are often asked as to the although I did not hold him, or try to. Of course I failed to introduce the instrument into the sore, and showed what I held in my hand. I then took a sharp lance from the case and showed it to him.

He came up directly to me and raised his head in such a way that the sore was exposed, and held it in this position until I had completely opened the abscess and withdrawn the lance, not crying or offering to go away from me. Now the blunt tool was torture, and it gave him no relief, yet he must have thought from my talk and manner that relief was intended, or he would never have held still for the second trial.”

“Here's a story about a steamboat cat,” said George, “which was written by somebody for the New Orleans Pickayune.”

“In July the steamer. Golden Rule arrived here from Cincinnati. A little common gray cat lived on the boat, that had been left at Bayou Sara, by accident. She had stepped on the wharf boat and had not returned in time. The officers on the Golden Rule felt sorry to lose her, for she had left three little kittens behind, who missed their mother sadly. But, to the surprise of all, the next boat that arrived down brought puss as a passenger or stowaway. She remained on board in her new quarters till near midnight, then made her way to the Golden Rule.

The watchman saw her come on board and witnessed the happy meeting between the kittens and their mother. I was a passenger on the boat as she returned to Cincinnati that trip, and puss was quite a heroine. But, alas, the temptations to visit wharf boats was so strong that she got left behind again, somewhere on the Indiana side of the Ohio, I have forgotten the town. Real grief was manifested by her friends when they missed her; they thought she was lost to them forever. On their arrival at Cincinnati, the steward left the boat, and the kittens disappeared with him. Three or four days afterward the Ariadne arrived from below, and the gray pussy came up on her. No one knows how she found out that boat was bound up the river instead of down, for other boats had stopped at that place, but only this one going up to Cincinnati. Puss was soon installed in her old home again, but the kittens were gone, and she was lonesome; so she went out on the wharf-boat and found a poor, forlorn kitten nearly as large as herself. This she carried in her mouth up into the cabin of the Golden Rule and placed it on a chair, and insisted that it should be noticed and caressed, nor would she eat until it was supplied, and she had it with her last winter.”

“That steamboat cat reminds me of one in New Haven,” said Henry, who felt that it was his turn to tell a story. “I found the anecdote in the New Haven News:

“'A curious story is told of a cat which lives on the Starin steamboat dock. The cat will occasionally take a notion to visit New York, and if driven off the boat at one place, will be seen to jump on at another, in time to avoid getting left. She will stay in New York two or three days at a time, and when her visit is concluded, will return and remain contented in New Haven for a season, until the fever for traveling comes on again. The persistency and ingenuity of the cat in boarding the boat for one of these journeys excites wonder, as the cat has a family of kittens living in New Haven. These kittens appear to be resigned to the temporary absence of their mother, but are always glad when she gets back from New York.'”

“There are many instances of the display of gratitude by cats,” Mr. Webb remarked. “One of the best I know of is told by a lady in California, as follows:

“'My cat, with regard to his meals, is a most grateful cat, and, however hungry he may be, he never thinks of eating until he has purred his thanks and rubbed his head against my hand. This trait of character was once displayed in the most affecting manner. One day 'Pret' had been shut up in the loft, on account of a lady visitor who had a strange antipathy to cats. I was going to town that day, and did not return until after midnight. As I was going upstairs I heard 'Pret's' voice calling me in a very anxious manner, and, on inquiry, I found that the poor cat had been forgotten, and had been shut up all day without a morsel of food or a drop of milk. Of course I immediately procured some milk and meat and carried it up to him. The poor creature was half wild with happiness when he heard my footsteps, and on seeing the plate of meat and saucer of milk he flew at them like a mad thing. But scarcely had he lapped a drop of milk when he left the saucer, came up to me with loud purring, and caressed me, as if to express his thanks. Then he went to the plate, but only just touched it with his nose, and again came to thank me for having attended to his wants, both of food and drink. It quite brought the moisture to my eyes to see the affectionate creature, though nearly wild with hunger and thirst, refrain from enjoying his food until he had returned thanks.'”

Mr. Graham said the Californian story reminded him of a Connecticut one, that appeared a short time before, in a New Haven paper. The story was that Mr. George Baldwin had several apple and pear trees, and last fall his cat awoke to the fact that these trees bore fruit which his master's family liked to eat.

One day in October, the cat's owner was surprised by the action of his pet. The animal was walking slowly about one of the trees, stopping every minute or two to gaze up at the apples on the boughs. After completing its tour of inspection, the cat climbed the tree, and slowly made its way out on a limb toward what was probably the ripest and largest apple of several bushels of fruit on the trees. When it reached its goal, the animal made several attempts to break the stem with its teeth, and finally succeeded. It had taken care to bite off a bit of the stem long enough to be securely held, and with its prize in its mouth the cat began its descent. Once on the ground, the apple was carried to a porch and laid by the side of a door opening into the house. The exploit was frequently repeated by Mr. Baldwin's sagacious puss, and the side of the porch was usually lined with apples.

“Did anybody ever hear,” said Charley, “of the cat that shared its dinner with its master?”

Nobody had heard of this wonderful cat, thereupon Charley read the following from the Manchester Times:

“A member of the Zoological Society says: I once had a cat who always sat up to the dinner-table with me and had his napkin round his neck, and his plate and some fish. He used his paw, of course, but he was very particular, and behaved with extraordinary decorum. When he had finished his fish I sometimes gave him a piece of mine. One day he was not to be found when the dinner bell rang, so we began without him. Just as the plates were put round for the entrÉe, puss came rushing upstairs and sprang into his chair with two mice in his mouth. Before he could be stopped he dropped a mouse on to his own plate, and then one on to mine. He divided his dinner with me as I had divided mine with him.”

There was a laugh all around over this amusing incident, and when it subsided, George asked what became of the mouse which the cat put on its master's plate. History seemed to be silent on that point, but whether the youth supposed the dainty was or was not devoured by the gentleman, we will not inquire. The subject was not discussed, as the attention of the party was next turned to a cat that put out a fire. The incident happened in Monongahela, Pa., and was as follows:

A family went out to a meeting, leaving Master Tom, a favorite cat, in sole occupation of the house.

On their return the cat's actions led to an examination, when his feet were found to be blistered. The sitting-room served to explain matters. A live coal had been thrown out and set the carpet on fire. Puss had evidently clawed out the fire for a considerable distance about the spot burned, leaving nothing but a center of ends, charred and frizzled. All the circumstances indicated that the cat had put out the fire.

“Cats are very fond of valerian,” said Mr. Graham, “and I have heard of a woman in St. Thomas who turned this fact to practical use.”

“How was that?” queried Mr. Webb.

“She detected the odor of sewer gas in her parlor,” was the reply, “and as the landlord from whom she leased the house would not believe in the existence of the gas, she hit upon a device to convince him. She first poured a quantity of valerian down the pipe of one of the basins in the upper story. The odor of valerian presently filled the parlor below. Procuring two cats she turned them loose in the parlor. They immediately evinced delight at the odor, and ran to an adjoining closet where it was strongest. They finally jumped upon a shelf in the closet, and there, by their contentment, showed that they had traced the odor to its source. The householder sent for a plumber, who, removing the lath and plaster, discovered a leak in the pipe which communicated with the sewer.”

Feline peculiarities were discussed at the conclusion of the foregoing story. Some one told about a cat in Missouri, which had four kittens, and one day she went into the woods and brought in two young rabbits, which she added to her family. She licked and caressed the little rabbits, just as she did her own kittens, and the new comers got along with the others on perfectly friendly terms.

Then somebody else told about four young foxes in Indiana that have been adopted by a cat. She seems to manifest as much maternal solicitude and motherly fondness for them as though they were her own. The foxes have accepted the situation in a spirit of meekness, and are seemingly satisfied. This was followed by a story of a cat whose kittens had been drowned; she found three young squirrels that she adopted and tenderly nursed.

“That is not so strange,” said Mr. Graham, “as the performance of a French cat, which I read about in the Revue Scientifique. One day the cat came into the house, having in its mouth a sparrow, caught in the neighboring garden. Scarcely had puss entered the room when she let the bird free, evidently for the purpose of playing with it, as is the custom of cats with mice before devouring them. The sparrow, having one of its wings injured, could not escape by flying, but boldly began to attack its huge enemy by fierce blows on the nose with its beak. The cat seemed astonished at the attack, and beat a retreat. From that moment the two seemed to forget their natural instincts and came to a mutual understanding. The truce continued and gradually grew to a fraternal friendship. They ate, played and slept together. Often they ran about the house, the sparrow perched on the cat's back, and sometimes carried gently in the cat's mouth, from which it was released on the first wish to be free. When feeding together, puss never touched a morsel till her friend had first partaken.”

“I read not long ago,” said Charley, “a story about a friendship between a cat and a rat. It was signed C. A. B., and appeared in Our Animal Friends. Here it is:

“'My cousin was much plagued by rats; they were so troublesome that every method was used to exterminate them. One day the cook thought she would try to scald them, and, watching her opportunity, threw a pail of boiling water, which covered the back of one, taking the hair and a portion of the skin off,—but he was enabled to reach his hiding place. Some days afterward a rat was seen eating from the same dish with the cat, having no hair on its back and appearing quite feeble. The cook called the attention of her mistress to the fact, and told the story of her throwing the scalding water some days before, and that the rats had ceased to be troublesome since.

“'Time rolled on, and it became quite an amusement to the family to watch for the coming of the rat, and the eating of its regular meals with the cat, and the little gambols indulged in together after eating.

“'In the course of the summer the family went on a visit, and closed their house for a few months, but made provision for the favorite cat, that she should stay with a relative in the same town.

“'Upon their return in the fall they called upon their relative for the cat, as the house was much infested with rats, and learned from them, that soon after they had left, an ugly-looking rat, without any hair on its back, made its appearance and used to eat with the cat, till one day one of the family killed it. Since that time they couldn't get the cat to eat anything, and she would not stop in the house, but had gone to a neighbor's. They caught her several times and brought her back, but she wouldn't remain with them.

“'My cousin, after hearing the particulars, became much interested, and chided herself for her thoughtlessness in not letting her relative know the curious story of the rat while making provision for the care of her cat. She went to the neighbor, but the cat would take no notice of her. She persevered and took the cat to her old home, but the cat wouldn't stay—off she would run to the neighbor she had selected as her friend. They got the daintiest food they could select, they coaxed and petted her, kept the door closed, and did everything they could to win back her confidence; but she wouldn't eat or taste a thing in the house, and they finally gave up in despair and allowed her to have her own way.

“'They never could get that cat to notice any one of the family or to come into the house again. Was this instinct?Was it reason? Was it a type of chivalry and grandeur in the animal not yet recognized by man?”

“Some time ago,” said Mr. Webb, “The New York World published a story about a cat that lived in Eighteenth Street, in that city, and was called 'Ears.' The World said of her:

“'She can fetch and carry like a retriever, and when her mistress throws a paper out of a third-floor window, Ears climbs into a basket fixed outside on a pulley, shuts the lid, and quietly lets herself down to the ground. Then she gets the paper, hides away in the basket and mews as a signal to be drawn up. She will play dead and alive and allow the wickedest boy alive to whirl her around his head by the tail. She takes a bath every day of her own accord and rocks herself to sleep on the back of a rocking-chair. The canary that lives in the same house uses her as a riding-horse, and every morning Ears gallops round and round the room with the bird on her back.'”

“I thought cats didn't like water,” said Charley, “and never took a bath except by accident.”

“They dislike water very much,” replied Mr. Webb, “as their fur has very little oil in it to resist the effect of moisture. I knew a cat at the Wawayanda Club, on Great South Bay, Long Island, that used to go into the water to catch small fishes; she didn't seem to mind the wetting, or rather she cared less for it than for a fish dinner. I read recently of a mill on a stream in South Carolina, belonging to a man named Pruitt. Pruitt owns a large cat that, as soon as the mill is stopped, by shutting down the gate, will immediately run down behind the mill and get on a log just over the sheeting over which the water is flowing. She will then look intently into the water, which is from eighteen inches to two feet deep, until she spies a fish; she then plunges into the water, frequently burying herself under it, but almost always coming out with a fish. She then sits quietly down on a rock near by and enjoys her meal.

“A newspaper of Portland, Maine,” said Mr. Graham, “published a story some years ago about a cat that used to catch fish with a hook and line.”

“Of course every one laughed at the absurdity of the idea, all except Mr. Graham, who didn't relax the muscles of his face, but declared that he believed the story to be true. “And so will you,” he continued, “when you hear the details.”

“By all means give us the details, then,” said Mr. Webb.

“Well, this is the story as I remember it. The cat belonged in a counting house or office that was on one of the piers in the harbor and had a trap-door in the floor through which dust was swept. Fishes swam under the pier and the clerks in the office used to bait a hook and lower the line through the trap-door to catch a fish for the cat's dinner. She sat and looked on at the proceeding and very soon learned that the trembling of the line was the signal that a fish had been secured on the hook.

“One day the clerk who had baited the hook and set the line was busy at his desk when the line trembled and puss knew that the time to haul in had arrived. The clerk did not come promptly enough to suit her; so she seized the line and drew it up 'hand over hand,' or rather 'paw over paw.' The clerk looked on in surprise as she hauled up the line and secured the fish, and ever after that she was allowed to do her own fishing. She never got up to the ability of baiting the hook and setting the line, but she certainly did all the rest of the work. The newspaper that I read it in said hundreds of citizens of Portland had seen that cat take her own fish, and the story is so well vouched for that I have no doubt of its truth.”

“Cats are more skillful in the use of their paws than many people believe,” said Mr. Graham. “For instance, listen to the following:

“A clergyman, the Rev. R. Lane, at Claverack, Columbia County, that was once asked at a school examination; 'How many toes has a cat?' Can you tell?”

Charley shook his head and admitted that he didn't know. George and Henry were equally unlearned on that point, and the former asked how the question was answered at the school.

“Not one of the pupils in the school could tell,” said Mr. Webb, “and then the principal was applied to for a solution. He also, with a good-natured smile, gave it up, when one of the teachers, determined not to be beaten by so simple a question, hit on the idea of sending out a delegation of boys to scour the neighborhood for a cat.

“That brings up the question,” said Mr. Webb turning to the boys: the idea was announced, the whole class wanted to join in the hunt. Several boys went out and soon returned successful. A returning board was at once appointed, and the toes counted, when to the relief of all it was learned that a cat possesses eighteen toes, ten on the front feet and eight on the hind feet.”

“The Kingston Freeman writes as follows: 'There is a young lady in the town of Claverack who has a pet cat which she has taught to sit at the table, and with a napkin about its neck it takes meat from a plate with its paws as dexterously as an epicure. When given a piece of meat on a fork it will hold the fork in its fore-paws and take the meat from the tines, and when given a cup of milk it will hold up the cup and drink. The cat has a well-developed 'thumb' on each fore-paw.'”

“Cats are inquisitive,” Mr. Graham remarked, “and examine new things with a great deal of care. They are not altogether free from superstition and sometimes display great alarm at things they do not understand. ThÉophile Gautier tells of a cat he had which was a great pet and used to sit for hours and watch him at his work.

“One day Gautier brought home a parrot; the cat surveyed the bird carefully and evidently came to the conclusion that it was a green chicken. It showed no alarm whatever until the parrot spoke. Then a great fear came over the cat; it arched its back, enlarged its tail and fled in terror, and not for days could it again be persuaded to enter the room where the parrot was.

“It is not uncommon for cats to play with a soap bubble without appearing to be astonished or mystified by its sudden disappearance. In one case, however, puss was so demoralized at the mystery as to grow big-tailed, and spit at any soap bubble which might happen to fall to the floor and drift across it. Another, which up to that time had never seen a colored person, fled so precipitately from a good-looking negro girl, that it tumbled into a grating, from which it could not be coaxed until hunger overcame its terror; and the oddity of it was that puss herself was as black as a coal.”

“There is fashion in everything,” said Mr. “Webb, “and a New York newspaper says that cat-parties are the latest sensation. Recently a young girl, the happy possessor of a fine maltese cat, invited a number of her friends to bring their pet cats to five o'clock tea, each cat to have a ribbon about its neck, corresponding to that worn by its mistress. At the appointed hour the cats made their appearance, in charge of their respective owners. After the feline introductions had taken place, some of which were the reverse of friendly, games were introduced, and soft balls, toy mice and other objects dear to pussy's heart were provided. These pastimes, however, were sometimes marred by a vigorous slap, when two strangers came in collision, and once the belligerent pussies had to be separated by friends. When tea was announced, a table furnished with saucers of milk and small cakes, with cushioned stools, was disclosed.

The floral decorations consisted of catnip, lavender, grasses, and bright flowers. The cats, placed on their respective stools, and attended by their mistresses, partook of the good cheer set before them. Their behavior was quite correct. With their fore-paws on the table, they lapped the milk with becoming propriety. When all were satisfied, there was a comical sight. Each pussy began making her toilet, and the face-washing was decorous in the extreme. After leaving the table a spray of catnip was given each kitty, and the feline happiness was complete. These sprigs were tossed in the air, caught, and lovingly caressed. As each kitty departed, it was presented with its ball or toy mouse as a memento of the party.”

“Before we separate,” said Mr. Graham, glancing at the clock as a hint that it was time to bring the conference upon felines to an end, “let me tell you of a cat that saved a house from being burned. His name was Dan, and he was the property of a little boy who was very kind to his furry pet.

The time came at last when Dan could repay this kindness; and he did so. One cold winter night all had gone upstairs to bed, and were sleeping soundly. Dan was cosily rolled up on his nice warm mat behind the kitchen stove, when all at once the room became very light. Dan awoke; and what should he see but the broom, which had been left standing a little too near the stove, all on fire. In a few moments the house would have been ablaze, but Dan thought of his master; so away he trotted upstairs to his room.

“Dan called with a very loud voice, 'Mew, mew, mew'; but his master did not hear him. Then he said, 'Mew, mew, mew,' still louder; but that did not awake him. Then he jumped upon the bed, pulling back the bed-clothes with his paw, and gently struck his master in the face. This aroused the sleepy boy, and he very soon learned the meaning of Dan's strange actions. He jumped out of bed, ran downstairs, and put out the fire before it had got under very great headway. The story was told afterward in the local newspaper and Dan became a hero in the place where he lived.”

A few more cat stories were told in spite of the lateness of the hour, and it was agreed in conclusion that cats greatly resemble dogs, horses and children, too, in being influenced by their surroundings, training and teaching. A child taught to be cruel, or to lie and steal in early life, is not likely to be a good or useful member of society. Horses and dogs are made vicious by bad treatment or gentle by kindness, and a cat's conduct will depend very largely upon its surroundings and education.

A writer in Harper's Young People gives the following interesting account of a wonderful troupe of performing cats at the Winter Circus in Paris:

“M. Bonnetty, the owner and trainer of these performing cats, believed, in spite of all opinions to the contrary, that puss belonged among animals of the highest intelligence. He collected cats of all kinds, and set patiently to work to educate them. The result has been wonderful, and puss has shown that when treated kindly she is capable of great things, and is a most willing slave, affectionate and gentle, and always ready to do her master's bidding.

“M. Bonnetty never gives puss a harsh word or a blow, for those arouse her hatred, and she never forgets them. His work has been accomplished by coaxing and caressing. He usually begins the training with kittens, but he has had almost as great success with cats which have been several years old when they reached his hands. At first he keeps them in a large apartment for several months, feeding them and petting them until he has won their entire confidence and affection. Then pussy's education begins. The first exercises are very simple, such as jumping through a hoop and climbing a pole, until by degrees puss, obedient to her master's voice, will do every trick that a beast of her size is capable of.

“After a year's training the graceful creatures make their first appearance in public. This is the time of trial, for it sometimes happens that the little feline artist will perform beautifully when alone with her master, but will be frightened and confused by the music, the glare of lights, and the crowd of people at the circus.

“There are fourteen beautiful pussies in the troupe, and the tricks they do are wonderful. They play with mice and birds, holding them in their paws and even in their teeth without doing them the slightest injury; they jump through a blazing hoop held up by the trainer, perform graceful gymnastic exercises on the backs of thirty-two chairs placed in a row, march around in time to music like little soldiers, and group themselves in many graceful and comical attitudes. And the best part of it is that the pussies seem to take as much delight in their amusing capers as do the crowds of children who watch them; and when a thousand little clapping hands applaud them, they form in a row and look as pleased and proud as if they understood what it was all about. Perhaps they do.

“A gentleman who went with M. Bonnetty to visit the cats in the room where they live found them all sleeping in graceful groups around a glowing stove, for an educated cat loves heat as well as her more humble sisters, and cannot be kept in good condition without it. As the trainer and his friend entered the room fourteen pair of little eyes opened, little ears were pricked up on the alert, and the pussies arose, stretching themselves and purring, and at once crowded around their master, rubbing against him, and reaching up to be caressed, while one little white cat named Gora climbed up to his shoulder and nestled in his neck. 'Yes, they all have names,' said their master, 'and they know them. There are Juno and Brutus and Caesar and Mayor and Lucette and Boulanger—he's that large cat. He's as gentle and loving and playful as a kitten. You know every word I am saying, don't you, old fellow?' he added, as a beautiful, glossy tiger cat, with large liquid eyes, came forward purring and showing every sign of feline delight and satisfaction.

“The star of the troupe is named Tibert, after the famous cat in the ancient romance of 'Reynard and the Fox.' Tibert is two years old. He is very agile and skillful. He leads the company in the jump through blazing hoops, and his greatest delight is to turn somersaults over the backs of chairs.

“The performing cats lead very temperate and regular lives. They are given an airing every day, and the large room where they live is lighted and sunny and well supplied with soft cushions for beds. They are fed at regular hours on bread and milk, and once a day they have all the liver they can eat, as that has been found to be the most healthy meat for them. They always have a pan of water, for water is something of which every full-grown cat needs an abundant supply.

“The cats in this troupe are all of the common varieties, black and white cats, tigers, Maltese, and tortoise-shell. The trainer has tried in vain to teach the Persian and Angora cats. They are beautiful for pets, but they are not agile, nor capable of much affection, and they have very little brains and a short memory. When M. Bonnetty needs recruits for his troupe, he seeks them among the cats that climb roofs at night and prowl over back-yard fences, as among these despised and persecuted creatures he has discovered the highest degrees of docility, sagacity, and intelligence.”