Concerning Still Other People's Cats 



as I wished, and when I come outdoors and see them 

 bounding toward me in long, light leaps, I am glad 

 that they leap toward me and not away from me, 

 little soft, fierce sparks of infinite energy holding a 

 mystery of their own as inscrutable as life. And I 

 remember that with all our high art, the common daily 

 sun searches a man for one revealing moment, and 

 makes a truer portrait than the most laborious painter. 

 The divine face of our Saviour, reflected in the pure 

 and noble traits of humanity, will not fail from the 

 earth because my hajid has failed in cunning.'' 



One would expect a poet of Ella Wheeler Wilcox's 

 temperament to be passionately fond of cats, just as 

 she is. One would expect, too, that only the most 

 beautiful and luxurious of Persians and Angoras 

 would satisfy her demand for a pet. This is also 

 justifiable, as she has several magnificent cats, about 

 whom she has published a number of interesting 

 stories. Her Madame Ref is quite a noted cat, but 

 Mrs. Wilcox's favorite and the handsomest of all 

 is named Banjo, a gorgeous chinchilla and white 

 Angora, with a silken coat that almost touches the 

 floor and a ruff, or " lord mayor's chain," that is a 

 finger wide. His father was Ajax, his mother was 

 Madame Ref, and Mrs. Wilcox raised him. She has 

 taught him many cunning tricks. He will sit up 

 like a bear, and when his mistress says, " Hug me, 

 Banjo," he puts both white paws around her neck 

 and hugs her tight Then she says, "Turn the 



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