not speak of the cat, to whom 

 we are nothing more than a too 

 large and uneatable prey: the 

 ferocious cat, whose sidelong con- 

 tempt tolerates us only as encum- 

 bering parasites in our own homes. 

 She, at least, curses us in her 

 mysterious heart; but all the 

 others live beside us as they 

 might live beside a rock or a tree. 

 They do not love us, do not 

 know us, scarcely notice us. 

 They are unaware of our life, 

 our death, our departure, our re- 

 turn, our sadness, our joy, our 



