THE CAT OF ALBION 97 



&quot; Le Cliat ,Noir&quot; once so familiar above restaurants 

 and bakeries. The English &quot; Cat and Fiddle,&quot; that 

 most common sign-board for rural inns, is said to 

 have been borrowed, not from the venerable nursery 

 rhyme, but from the French &quot; CJiat Fiddle&quot; which 

 was equally and more deservedly popular with 

 Gallic landlords. So numerous were cat signs in 

 London two hundred years ago, that the &quot; Spectator &quot; 

 tells a pleasant story of a man who, being made ill 

 and faint by the proximity of a live cat, suffered a 

 corresponding degree of discomfort when passing 

 under the swinging boards on which Pussy was re 

 peatedly painted. 



Yet for all the frequency with which we encoun 

 ter the cat in every phase of English life, for all 

 the maxims and proverbs and familiar superstitions 

 with which her name is linked, there is little to 

 show that she won more than tolerance in the 

 &quot;free, fair homes &quot; of that benighted land. If she 

 sneezed on a wedding-day, she brought luck to the 

 bride. If she jumped on a corpse, she presaged 

 misfortune. If she washed her face, or turned her 

 tail to the fire, men knew that rain was coming. 



&quot; Scratch but thine ear, 

 Then boldly tell what weather s drawing near.&quot; 



wrote Lord Westmorland, who had ample leisure 

 in which to observe the habits of his cat during 

 the long imprisonment which she shared. 



