CHAPTER IX 



THE CAT TO-DAY 



" Sphinx of my quiet hearth ! who deignst to dwell 

 Friend of my toil, companion of mine ease." 



PERHAPS some portion of the tenderness 

 which falls to Pussy's happy lot in these 

 smooth days, when her star — eclipsed since 

 the fall of Pasht — has once more reached its zenith, 

 is due to the nursery rhymes which present her so 

 constantly to infant eyes and ears. " The cat," says 

 M. Champfleury, " is the nurse's favourite, and the 

 baby's earliest friend. It plays its part in little 

 rhythmical dramas, cunningly presented to the 

 drowsy child, who falls asleep with a familiar image 

 parading fantastically through his brain." French 

 rhymes are much the prettiest ; less bald than the 

 English, less banal than the German. There is a 



