Concerning my Other Cats 



that he not only knew me, but remembered my one 

 peculiarity. 



Then there was old Pomp, called " old " to distin- 

 guish him from the young Pomp of to-day, or "Pomp- 

 anita." He died of pneumonia at the age of three 

 years; but he was the handsomest black cat — and 

 the blackest — I have ever seen. He had half a 

 dozen white hairs under his chin ; but his blackness 

 was literally like the raven's wing. Many handsome 

 black cats show brown in the strong sunlight, or when 

 their fur is parted. But old Pomp's fur was jet black 

 clear through, and in the sunshine looked as if he 

 had been made up of the richest black silk velvet, 

 his eyes, meanwhile, being large and of the purest 

 amber. He weighed some fifteen pounds, and that 

 somebody envied us the possession of him was 

 evident, as he was stolen two or three times during 

 the last summer of his life. But he came home 

 every time; only when Death finally stole him, we 

 had no redress. 



"Bobinette," the black kitten referred to in the 

 previous chapter, also had remarkably beautiful eyes. 

 We used to keep him in ribbons to match, and he 

 knew color, too, perfectly well. For instance, if we 

 offered him a blue or a red ribbon, he would not be 

 quiet long enough to have it tied on ; but show him 

 a yellow one, and he would prance across the room, 

 and not only stand still to have it put on, but purr 

 and evince the greatest pride in it. 



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