THE CAT: 



fully I walk. And don't you think that everything 

 here is very pretty? These paths, and these 

 strange little green things which smell so good? 

 And then those other objects I see above me, which 

 are called the sun, the moon, the stars. How dif- 

 ferent it is from our old lodgings, and how well off 

 we are, you and I, in tins country." 



In the winter our cats became our fireside guests, 

 our constant companions, sharing with us, not only 

 the warmth and flicker of the flames, but the vague 

 melancholy of our twilight reveries, and our un- 

 fathomable dreams. This, too, is the time of their 

 greatest beauty. At the first approach of cold 

 weather, Moumoutte Chinoise patched up the holes 

 in her ragged coat, and Moumoutte Blanche 

 adorned herself with an imposing cravat, a snow 

 white boa, which framed her little face like some 

 vast Medicean ruff. The friendship of the two 

 cats for each other grew stronger in such close 

 companionship. In the depth of an armchair, or 

 on their cushions before the fire, they slept for 

 days together, rolled up into one big furry ball, 

 without visible head or tail. 



It was Moumoutte Chinoise who perseveringly 

 courted this comfortable warmth. When, after a 

 short and chilly run in the garden, she found her 



