PUSSY HUNTING 



THERE is no census of the cats that prowl about 

 the sleeping town, but everybody who knows the 

 streets between midnight and dawn knows that 

 their numbers are very great. A proportion of 

 them are, of course, animals which own a home 

 and are merely out for a night of it, a kind of 

 relaxation on which even the most respectable 

 and domesticated of cats insists every now and 

 again. But a goodly number are cats that owe 

 allegiance to no man, or maid, and manage to 

 make a living of a kind on a footing of inde- 

 pendence. How do they do it? They search the 

 dust-buckets laid out by householders for the dis- 

 posal of the Cleansing Department, and doubtless 

 find something in them occasionally to stay the 

 pangs of hunger. But, on the whole, the economy 

 of the town cat is involved in obscurity, and a 

 benevolent society which interests itself in feline 

 happiness thinks that it does these ownerless 

 animals a service by " putting them out of pain." 

 For my own part I have a very strong belief in 

 the competence of the cat to look after itself, 

 and think that much of this lethal kindness con- 

 sidered strictly as kindness to cats is misplaced. 

 In the early summer months, however, there is 



