The unconscious chambermaid shut her in, 

 and it was not until the second night that the 

 kind poet heard and released his inquisitive 

 companion. 



% Yet, though I hold that cats are best in a 

 house, I am far from agreeing with those who 

 declare that the attachment of cats is always 

 to houses and never to human beings. I could 

 cite many cases, but I will content myself with 

 that of Venus. 



^s Venus was a tortoiseshell waif who ap- 

 peared one morning, Heaven knows whence, 

 in our garden. She announced her presence 

 to me by pitiful mewings, and then, in answer 

 to a call, she revealed herself, a thin, woe- 

 begone figure with a patchy coat and a long, 

 stiff, attenuated tail. As soon as she had made 

 up her mind about me her friendship; and 

 devotion began to gush forth. She rubbed 

 herself round and round my legs ; she showed 

 herself, as a little boy once said of another 

 cat, extraordinarily fond of the human hand. 

 She followed me about the garden, purring 



