Concerning Cats 



after a few more assurances he got down and strutted 

 as proudly as any peacock; much to the discom- 

 fiture of the kitten, who wanted to play with him. 

 And now he will cross the yard any time to have one 

 of those collars on. 



But Thomas Erastus is the prince of our cats 

 to-day. He weighs seventeen pounds, and is a soft, 

 grayish-maltese with white paws and breast. One Sat- 

 urday night ten years ago, as we were partaking of 

 our regular Boston baked beans, I heard a faint mew. 

 Looking down I saw beside me the thinnest kitten I 

 ever beheld. The Irish girl who presided over our 

 fortunes at the time used to place the palms of her 

 hands together and say of Thomas's appearance, 

 "Why, mum, the two sides of 'im were just like 

 that." I picked him up, and he crawled pathetically 

 into my neck and cuddled down. 



"There," said a friend who was sitting opposite, 

 " he's fixed himself now. You'll keep him." 



" No, I shall not," I said, " but I will feed him a 

 few days and give him to my cousin." Inside half 

 an hour, however, Thomas Erastus had assumed the 

 paternal air toward us that soon made us fear to lose 

 him. Living without Thomas now would be like a 

 young girl's going out without a chaperone. After 

 that first half-hour, when he had been fed, he chased 

 every foreign cat off the premises, and assumed the 

 part of a watch-dog. To this day he will sit on the 

 front porch or the window-sill and growl if he sees a 



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