48 The Book of Cats. 



during which I never forsook her, her eyes constantly 

 fixed on me, were at length extinguished ; and her 

 loss rent my heart with sorrow." 



You have heard, of course, of Doctor Johnson's 

 feline favourite, and how it fell ill, and how he, 

 thinking the servants might neglect it, himself 

 turned Cat-nurse, and having found out that the 

 invalid had a fancy for oysters, daily administered 

 them to poor Pussy until she had quite recovered. 

 I like to picture to myself that good old grumpy 

 doctor nursing Pussy on his knee, and wasting who 

 shall say how many precious moments which other- 

 wise might have been devoted to his literary avo- 

 cations. I dare say now, in that tavern parlour 

 where the lexicographer held forth so ably after 

 sun-set, he made but scant allusion to his nursing 

 feats, lest some mad wit might have twitted him 

 upon the subject, for you may be sure that the wits 

 of those days, as of ours, could have been mighty 

 satirical on such a theme. 



Madame Helvetius had a Cat that used to lie 

 at its mistress's feet, scarcely ever leaving her for 

 five minutes together. It would never take food 

 from any other hand, and it would allow no one but 

 its mistress to caress it ; but it would obey her 

 commands in everything, fetching objects she 



