my attention and imperils the neatness of my penmanship. Even when she
is disposed to be affable, turns the light of her countenance upon me,
watches with attentive curiosity every stroke I make, and softly, with
curved paw, pats my pen as it travels over the paper, even in these
halcyon moments, though my self-love is flattered by her condescension,
I am aware that I should work better and more rapidly if I denied myself
this charming companionship. But, in truth, it is impossible for a lover
of cats to banish these alert, gentle, and discriminating little
friends, who give us just enough of their regard and complaisance to
make us hunger for more. M. Fee, the naturalist, who has written so
admirably about animals, and who understands, as only a Frenchman can
understand, the delicate and subtle organization of a cat, frankly
admits that the keynote of its character is independence. It dwells
under our roofs, sleeps by our fire, endures our blandishments, and
apparently enjoys our society, without for one moment forfeiting its
sense of absolute freedom, without acknowledging any servile relation to
the human creature who shelters it.

"Rude and masterful souls resent this fine self-sufficiency in a
domestic animal, and require that it shall have no will but theirs, no
pleasure that does not emanate from them.

"Yet there are people, less magisterial, perhaps, or less exacting, who
believe that true friendship, even with an animal, may be built up on
mutual esteem and independence; that to demand gratitude is to be
unworthy of it; and that obedience is not essential to agreeable and
healthy intercourse. A man who owns a dog is, in every sense of the
word, its master: the term expresses accurately their mutual relations.
But it is ridiculous when applied to the limited possession of a cat. I
am certainly not Agrippina's mistress, and the assumption of authority