about for a moment, but when I put my hand on him suddenly recognized me
and overwhelmed me with affectionate caresses, and for two days and
nights would not allow me out of his sight, unable to eat or sleep
unless I was close at hand, and following me from room to room and chair
to chair. And people say that cats have no affection!"

At the Quincy House in Boston may be seen in the office an oil painting
of an immense yellow cat. The first time I noticed the picture, I was
proceeding into the dining room, and while waiting for dinner, was
amused at seeing the original of the picture walk sedately in, all
alone, and going to an empty table, seat himself with majestic grace in
a chair. The waiter, seeing him, came forward and pushed up the chair as
he would do for any other guest. The cat then waited patiently without
putting his paws on the table, or violating any other law of table
etiquette, until a plate of meat came, cut up to suit his taste (I did
not hear him give his order), and then, placing his front paws on the
edge of the table, he ate from his plate. When he had finished, he
descended from his table and stalked out of the room with much dignity.
He was always regular at his meals, and although he picked out a good
seat, did not always sit at the same table. He was in appearance
something like the famous orange cats of Venice, and attracted much
attention, as might be expected, up to his death, at a ripe old age.

Miss Frances Willard was a cat-lover, too, and had a beautiful cat which
is known to all her friends.

"Tootsie" went to Rest Cottage, the home of Frances Willard, when only a
kitten, and there he lived, the pet of the household and its guests,
until several years ago, when Miss Willard prepared to go abroad. Then
she took Tootsie in her arms, carried him to the Drexel kennels in