The Book of Cats. 249 



breath continued to wail on the organ pipes. Slowly 

 the black and white Cat descended the tree, and 

 presently leapt at my feet with a bound that 

 thrilled through me, and expelled a scream-like 

 note from my instrument. But to my astonishment, 

 my enemy did not attack me ; on the contrary, he 

 approached the offending boots humbly, and caressed 

 them with his head. Still I continued to play, and 

 after every inch of my Bluchers had received 

 homage from the Cat's hitherto terrible muzzle, 

 he sprang on the seat beside me, and purred and 

 gently mewed, and finally crept on to my shoulders 

 and lovingly smelt at the mouth-organ as I played 

 it. From that day hostilities ceased between us. 

 He would sit on my shoulders for half an hour 

 together, and sing, after his fashion, while I played, 

 and I had only to strike up to lure him from any 

 part of the premises where he might happen to be. 



" There used to come to our house a young man 

 who played the trombone, and having heard the 

 story, insisted that there was nothing in it, — that all 

 Cats like music, and that savage as was our Cat to 

 strangers, he would be bound to conquer him with 

 a single blast of his favorite instrument. Next 

 time he came armed with the terrible-looking 

 trombone, which our Cat no sooner saw than, (as I 



