THE CAT 



You will see under each toe a little ball of flesh, a 

 real cushion softly stuffed. Another ball, much 

 larger, occupies the center. In addition, tufts of 

 down fill up the intervening spaces. Thus shod, the 

 cat walks as if on tow or wadding, and no ear can 

 hear it coming. Have we not there, I ask you, slip- 

 pers of silence, marvelously adapted to surprise at- 

 tacks!" 



"It is a fact," assented Louis, "that we never 

 hear the cat coming." 



"The dog, too," added Jules, "has similar little 

 cushions, only larger, under its paws. Neverthe- 

 less we hear its footsteps, perhaps on account of the 

 claws scraping the ground a little." 



"Your i perhaps' is superfluous," his uncle re- 

 joined. "It is certainly the claws scraping the 

 ground that make the dog's walk heard in spite of 

 the fleshy balls." 



"How does the cat manage, then?" asked Jules. 

 "It has claws and very strong ones." 



"That is the cat's secret. When walking and 

 sleeping it keeps its claws drawn back in a sheath 

 at the extremity of the toes ; it has then what we call 

 velvet paws. Thus drawn into their case, the claws 

 do not project beyond the paw and cannot strike the 

 ground. To this first advantage of not making any 

 noise in walking is added another not less useful to 

 the cat. Completely hidden inside their sheaths, the 

 claws do not get blunt; they preserve their sharp- 

 ness and fine point for the attack. They are excel- 

 lent weapons, and the animal keeps them in a case 



