"J'avais emmene avec moi quelques uns de mes chats:
Madame Minne, Madame Brun, Lolotte, Boulot, Bibi,
Riquet, Coco, Petit Gris, Gamin, et quatre de mes chiens:
Loup, Pataud, Nana, Monkey. Helas! combien d'eux sont

morts depuis: Madame Brun, Lolotte, Boulot, Coco, le
Petit Gris, Gamin, et Nana, et Pataud, et le cher petit
Singe. Mes yeux se brouillent en ecrivant leurs noms
ici. Je les revois tous groupe autour de moi dans cette
maison nouvelle pour eux. Je me rappelle nos promonades
dans la campagne, a la tombee de la nuit, les chats
suivant avec les chiens"

--Maurice Boissard, reminiscing on his
journey to Brittany in 1914--which
journey he makes, he says, "chaque
annee, depuis dix ans, pour accompagner

une petite societe de chats qui vont
passer l'ete la-bas dans la propriete
de leur maitresse. C'est un voyage de
douze heurues. . . Je vous assure pourtant
qu'on est bien paye de ses peines quand
on arrive au chalet, qu'on pose les paniers
dans le jardin, qu'on les ouvre, qu'on voit
les chats sortir la tete, se reconnaitre
aussitot et se mettre a prendre leur
course, a grimper aux arbres, a retrouver
chacun son coin habituel, comme s'ils se
disent: 'En voila, pour quatre mois de
bonheur.' "

ome Orient Pearls; Indian Folk Lore. Shovona Devi. Lon., Macmillan, 1915.

edesdale, Lord (Mitford): *Tales of Old Japan.*

Both have some cat material; both were at the little bookstore nearly opposite (but west of) the Grolier Club the last time I was there.

MY CAT

by Amelie Rives

(McClure's Magazine; May; 1920) P. 30.

My cat is not from Persia, or Malta or Korea
Or the Isle of Man,
Or indeed from any of the countries
Preferred by the aristocracy of cats;
She wandered in to me one night from nowhere,
A mere, vulgar kitten
Vulgarly starving.
Her little hood and jacket are grey like common ashes,
Her white chemise is like common thistledown,
But she has ways of mysterious regality
And exotic beguiling,
And in her eyes are all Egypt and its secrets.

Now in the winter evenings
She and fire share my hearth.
Each purring, blinking watchfully at the other,
Wild, wilful creatures
Only pretending to be tamed.

LE CHAT

(Par Jules Renard, dans "Histoires Naturelles")

-- 0 --

I

Le mien ne mange pas les souris; il n'aime pas ca.
Il n'en attrape què pour jouer avec. Quand il a bien joue, il
lui fait grace de la vie, et il va rever ailleurs, l'innocent,
assis dans la boucle de sa queue, la tête bien fermée come un poing.

Mais, a cause des griffes, la souris est morte.

II

On lui dit: "Prend les souris et laisse les oiseaux."

C'est bien subtil, et le chat le plus fin quelquefois
se trompe.

THE CAT

Pleasures that I most enviously sense
Pass in long ripples down her flanks, and stir
The plume that is her tail. She deigns to purr
And take caresses. But her paws would tense
To flashing weapons at the least offence.
Humbly I bend to stroke her silken fur.
I am content to be a slave to her.
I am enchanted by her insolence.

No one of all the women I have known
Has been so beautiful, or proud, or wise
As this angora with her amber eyes.
She makes her chosen cushion seem a throne,
And wears the same voluptuous, slow smile
She wore when she was worshipped by the Nile.

Walter Adolphe Roberts

... The companionship of a cat seems to me normal and decent. The cat has reached the highest level of its development and possessing an individual point of view has nothing in common with mankind, of whose upholstery and dairies it makes use, offering in exchange its own grace and beauty and serenity of poise. I do not by any means dislike dogs, but I do deplore their inclination to flatter human nature by fawning upon its superiority. ... A cat inhabits one's house as presumably Queen Elizabeth slept about the country in her subjects' beds; a dog stays with one like a poor relation. A cat is feminine and realistic; a dog is masculine and idealistic. A cat is romantic; a dog is sentimental.

"The Old Men of the Sea" by Compton Mackenzie (p. 179)

Hushed, cruel, amber-eyed,

Before the time of the danger of the day

Or at dusk on the boulder-broken mountainside,

The great cats seek their prey.

Soft-padded, heavy plimbed,

With agate talons chiselled for Love or Hate

In desolate places wooded or granite rimmed,

the great cats seek their mate.

Rippling as water swerved

To tangle coverts over shadowed and deep

Or secret caves when the canyons wall is curved

The great cats go for sleep.

Seeking their mate or prey

Out of the darkness glow their insatiate eyes.

Man, who is made more terrible than they,

Dreams he is otherwise.

George Stirling

FOUR, NOT OF A KIND

To a jeune fille who could have given
Duse lessons in charm.

It was a cultivated sort of charm and she never made a
public show of it. Rather, it appeared only at rare intervals,
so that we were enchanted. We spent time and effort in evoking
a flash of it.

At an age when the average female appears to be deliber-
ately devoted to the task of making an obnoxious, squalling mess
of herself, Boots was displaying a real desire to please, to give
something in return for favors received.

She was an accomplished coquette. When she gave a slow,
tantalizing look from dreamy, topaz eyes, I almost expected to see
a small fan appear in her hand. She was three weeks old when she
came to live with us and even then she had a beautiful, white face
with the black above growing in a fetching hair line. It was a
snowy, clean white as if she had that instant slapped on a small
fistful of Elizabeth Arden's "Fluffy" cleansing cream. Actually,
I have often thought since how very much she resembled Hedy LaMarr!

We played the phonograph a good deal in those days.
(It was nineteen twenty nine and one did not turn on the radio
oftener than necessary). Our records were not always the latest,
mostly they were sent by friends who had tired of them. And mostly,
Boots tired of them quickly. I would put on the "Prisoner's Song" -

-1-

["(If I had the wings of an Angel, remember?) and at once, she would\njump up and stop it by holding a paw on the record until the machine\nran down. On the other hand, she was fond of Harry Richmond's\n"My Dear" and would sit quietly and listen to the very end. She\nseemed to find something personal in that song.", "I was in San Francisco on her first birthday, her first\nand most important one. At five in the afternoon, I received a\ntelegram saying: \"Two pairs of small Shoes arrived today. Boots\ndoing fine. Keeping only one - - -", "Shoe.", "He was the eternal Skippy. All of his short life he kept\nthe look of a small boy that has been promised a real .22 rifle and\na hunting trip. (Wherever you are now, happy hunting, Shoe!)", "His hunting he took seriously but at the same time it was\nhis greatest pleasure. We could have set the clock with the regu-\nlarity by which he started out. He finished a hearty dinner at\nfive, yawned, stretched his huge, magnificent body, sauntered to\nthe door and waited in calm, patient silence for it to be opened\nfor him. He was so sure of everything, he thought it beneath him\nto ask. At eight, he returned, his mouth very much occupied with\na steel-trap hold on a great, revolting timber-rat. Standing on\nthe wood box just outside the window he would pull on the screen\nuntil he was let in.", "At such times, one started back in surprise and dismay at\nthe change that had occurred. Three hours before, his face had", "-2-"]

the look of a Jackie Coogan in "The Kid" and now he looked more
like a Joe Louis, the Killer.

His color. More blue than black. The glistening, moving
blue of a Blue Racer snake. At those times, his eyes had the
steady, unblinking stare of a Blue Racer and even his head seemed
to have flattened, to have become elongated.

But to every man his Waterloo. He was fourteen months
old the day he ate his dinner and strolled nonchalantly up the path
into the woods. Only a short distance along that path, cougars,
coyotes and rattlesnakes lived. Even a startled buck would use his
sharp hooves to trample.

At any rate, we never saw him again, although we tramped
many weary miles searching and calling his name.

At the end, Shoe, did your face still look like Skippy's,
or did it change, as we had seen it do so often to the hooded,
careful look of a Blue Racer on it's way?

Nug.

Named for the much sought after gold nuggets. The brother
of Boots. Her little brother, we called him until he grew so many
heavy pounds beyond her. Not only in physical size, but in in-
telligence, in scope of affection.

He is eleven years old now and his age sits lightly, even
attractively upon him. From the first his manners were beautiful,
graceful. He is humored, his slightest wish is anticipated and
granted. They are varied and often unpredictable. A light,

-3-

gentle rain is falling. It is time for him to "go outside" for
a bit. But he does not care to venture forth and dampen his
priceless, chinchilla colored coat. No, it is simply too much.
But let a torrential, slashing down-pour begin and at once, he de-
cides upon a prolonged walk! As he grows older, this contrariness
increases. I think a lot of it is put on, simply to impress us,
to have us understand that his age is nothing, that he has no fear
of anything like rheumatism. If he feels any fear, he will not
admit it. There are a great many things he finds himself reluc-
tant to admit. For instance, his silly, idolatrous love for one
particular member of the household. He is ashamed of this one
great weakness but cannot overcome it!

His natural courtesy is pronounced. We had as house
guest an important business executive, a man much interested in
labor problems. During his entire stay, Nug devoted all his time
to a relentless war on mice. Our guest spoke of him as a 'fine
mouser', one who attended to his job. Later, he relapsed into
his natural indolence and we once more set traps for the mice!

He was sometimes taken to the fishing camp, a distance of
forty miles over a narrow, dangerous road. These trips he loath-
ed and it was a result of the visits to the camp that he formed a
life long aversion to fish. Although he has a tremendous fond-
ness for tinned shrimp IF it is the Louisiana variety.

If it appears that he is too pampered, too wrapped in
cotton-wool, I hasten to say that his life is not all beer and

-4-

skittles. Unpleasant things have happened to him and have been
done to him. While he was still a baby, a good sized chunk of
his left ear was neatly bitten off. It was just after dark and
it happened not ten feet from the front door. We heard one
frantic cry for help and rushed out to find him apparently alone
but with the torn ear dripping blood. It never was a drawback
to his fine appearance. Rather, it gave him a certain "air",
something like Monty Wooly in a beret.

Again, he was still young when he was inserted in a riding
boot, upside down while the local deputy sheriff wielded a sharp,
sterilized razor blade. As a result, he has never known the
trials and sorrows of romance. Perhaps in the dim reaches of
his subconscious mind he has moments of resentment but he says
nothing about it.

His most distressing trouble came on him in the middle of
winter when all (both) roads were closed due to snow (and the in-
efficiency of the snow plows). We could not phone the nearest
small animal doctor, one hundred and seventy miles away for even
the telephone lines were down in that direction. And no doubt,
Nug was very sick. A hot water bottle under his blanket gave
some relief but not enough. In desperation I called a government
horse and mule veterinary. It was nine o'clock, definitely late
at night in this part of the world. That vet was a darling, a
Gandhi, a St. Francis among men. His voice betrayed no surprise
at the unusual hour but was calm and reassuring. I screeched

-5-

symptoms over the snow laden line. "It has been going on since
Monday afternoon, lack of it, rather. Doctor, he has not been
able to void since Monday." My voice rose to a high wail: "He
can't live much longer. Tell me what to do." "How old?" The
question was calm, matter-of-fact. "Nine years," I answered.
"Altered?" "Yes." "Oh! well. Prostate gland, I expect. Can
you get hold of any sweet spirits of nitre?" "Yes." "Then get
it at once and give four drops in water every four hours."

At this point, my gratitude to Rudy Vallee or Fibber McGee
and Molly or whatever the program that kept the store owner up so
late that night, for they were still open and in thirty minutes we
were measuring out drops and Nug was manfully swallowing them, one
of my best bath towels around his neck to keep his still immaculate
coat clean. There is no sleep for anybody, the fire must be kept
going, his hot water bottle filled. He wants no fondling but
welcomes constant soothing talk. Then, it is daylight. He stands
up, stretches and goes to the door. He is escorted outside. In
the ugly dismal dawn, we quickly clear the deep snow from a patch
of ground. He digs a hole, a small paltry one to be sure, but he
uses the hole. After three days and four nights! (Oh! thank
you, doctor!)

The expression on his darling, darling face is one of such
relief, such bright gratitude that one is filled with remorse for
having ever caused him any unhappiness, or such bitterness as he
experienced for a few weeks when we were given-

-6-

Sean.

That grand companion, that ad-libbing Barrymore who takes
his audience into his confidence. A small, fastidious Burmese
prince (still with an infantile complex at four) who harbors no
nostalgia for the Temple grounds. Who "talks" instead of his
pleasure over being accepted as a good citizen of "God's Own
Country!" He is democratic. One imagines him saying with Windsor
of the coal miners - "Yes, something must be done." Not that he,
personally, would do anything. He feels deeply, he is sympathetic
but he leaves the world's work to others.

He would certainly have been "sent down" from Oxford, only
to be asked immediately to lunch at the oldest and most exclusive
of London Clubs, and spend the rest of the afternoon shopping in
Bond Street.

He could have a thousand "Aeriels" but doesn't bother.
Women are entranced by him but men, too, fall under the spell of
his rollicking personality.

The final proof of this was when a gruff, old Justice of
the Peace, noted for his taciturnity, greeted him not long ago as -
"Hi, there, brother!"

By Patsy Judge

* * * * * * * * *

-7-

MY LORD'S MOTORING

He was an arrogant cat, *My Lord*,
Or ever he heard of Henry Ford.
He sat in the windows, east and west,
Amber eyes and a snow-white vest,
Watching the silly children run,
Staring haughtily at the sun:
Nothing daunted him in the least,
Nor touched the pride of that stately beast.

Then, on a day, he went to ride,
I in the wheel-seat, he beside.
Never a move that advertised
He was the slightest bit surprised.
He sat up straight as a millionaire,--
A snob of snobs in a parlor chair--
But once, when I missed a boy at play,
I thought he winked in a knowing way.

VINCENT STARRETT

"He (Dufour, a French fire-eater) kept his audience in good humor by presenting all this in a spirit of crude comedy and, to increase the comedy element, he introduced a number of trained cats. Although the thieving proclivities of cats are well known, Dufour's pets showed no desire to share his repast, and he had them trained to obey his commands during mealtime. At the close of the meal he would become violently angry with one of them, seize the unlucky offender, tear it limb from limb and eat the carcass. One of his musicians would then beg him to produce the cat, dead or alive. In order to do this he would go to a nearby horse-trough and drink it dry; would eat a number of pounds of soap, or other nauseating substance, clowning it in a manner to provoke amusement instead of disgust; and, further to mask the disagreeable features--and also, no doubt, to conceal the trick--would take the cloth from the table and cover his face; whereupon he would bring forth the swallowed cat, or one that looked like it, which would howl piteously and seem to struggle wildly while being disgorged. When freed, the poor cat would rush away among the spectators."

Houdini: Miracle Mongers and Their Methods; New York, Dutton (1920); pages 32-33.

--- 3 ---

chasseurs et gardeurs de vaches, au milieu de tout le labeur des autres animaux. Je sais, comme toutefois, qu'entre vous, vous vous rendez des services; je sais, par exemple, que vous vous léchez mutuellement la tête et que vous vous réunissez pour je ne sais quel grave Concile, assis en rond sur les sacs de la grange. Mais vous goûtez peut-être par trop les attitudes égyptiennes, dans votre amour immuable de l'immobilite et du silence.

Même quand vous allez guetter les oiseaux près de la serve, il semble que vous montez une faction paresseuse. Vous êtes patients; le ventre collé au sol, vous attendez. Vous êtes perdus certainement dans un rêve carnassier, tellement vos yeux sont lourdement clos, ou plus sombre encore que l'eau dormante du petit bassin. Près de vous, volètent, confiants, des papillons; et ils vont ensuite se poser sur les feuillew denses des melons verts.

Ce matin, le petit chat dernier-né, joliment marqué de blanc, de gris et de jaune, fait l'acrobate et essaye d'escalader l'étroite échelle des poules. Brutus voudrait bien jouer avec lui; mais la mère chatte arrive; et, frangant le nez, elle griffe le nez de la chienne, qui s'en va alors, penaude et vexée, s'allonger sous le hangar aux fromages.

La mère La Loupe① comme tous les paysans, n'a pas de tendresse pour mes chats. A l'entendre, ils ne sont bons qu'à égorger les pigeons. Eh bien! quand @la serait, est-ce qu'elle n'au-rait pas là un prétexte tout trouvé pour tant de pigeons qu'elle laisse creverpar un manque absolu de surveillance et de propreté?

Au reste, j'impose mes chats, et je veux qu'on les respecte. J'ai, je l'avoue, poue ces personnages si propres, si silencieux, si sauvages, une passion tenace, que je ne réserve pas toujours aux chiens, cyniques, bruyants et familiers. Quand j'écris le soir, c'est l'un de mes chats, un beau chat jaune et gris, qui vient s'asseoir sur ma table, devant mes yeux, précisément, --et qui, pendant tout le temps que je reste là, reste lui aussi taciturne et sphyngien... Ah! comme il me tient bonne compagnie; et comme je le préfère à n'importe quelle autre compagnie, au royaume du Rêve et de la Fantaisie!

--(Extrait de "Vagadondages", par Gustave Coquiot. Paris, Ollendorf, 1921.)

① Une servante à la serme—
mère d'Achille

## Words from Levi's History of Magic:

almicantor, P.295 valsagora, almagrippa, cathalzem, cuppelation, polygraphy, incarnardined, stryges, archimandrite, 408, bezels, 511, demonographers, dolmens, 230, mediomania, 427, pantacles, talismans, sacerdotal cats, phalansterium P.117, catechumens, 201, colportage, 217, frenetic, steganography, hallucinations, enigmatic, decane, 140, lustrations, remanents, larvae, to decode, The Zohar, P.147

dissident

sacerdotal cats were welcomed in the adytum. Sorcerers are the "poisonou
mushrooms of fatality." P.89

I do not think a magic system of divination by cats has yet been evolved.
Cats keep their secrets too closely to afford aid to the diviner.

Witches hung live cats from their belts at the Sabbath (P.440 Levi.

incubi, succubi, p.111, epopt. P.135

Cats on the borderland between natural and supernatural, between the
conscious and the unconscious.

Draconian. ululant, paludal, obsidian (black stone used by Egyptians),
ate "kedgeree" cibarious,

["pleroma, eschatology, pronaos, sigels, sopha\n\nengelology, prenateology, prenates, prenates, prenates,

Cats purr in delinquency.

I saw two cats fornicate in front of the Players Club. Cats usually are more secluded and modest about such matters. The female, a grey tabby, was calling, of course. She rubbed herself against the wall and gave little coos. The male approached her stealthily, seized her suddenly by the throat between his teeth, and then straddled her. She made no protest and did not move. At the end, however, with a blood curdling yowl and a blow of her strong hind foot, she freed herself.

Lanolin caring

Elliott O'Donnell: Animal Ghosts" ;P.55

"There are some strangers with whom the cat will at once make friends, and
others whom it will studiously avoid. Why? The explanation, I fancy, lies
once more in the occult—in the cat's psychic sense of smell. Kind people
attract benevolently disposed phantoms, which bring with them an agreeably
scented atmosphere, that, in turn, attracts cats. On the contrary, cruel
people attract malevolent phantoms, distinguishable also to the cat by their
smell, a smell typical of cruelty—often of homicidal lunacy (I have partic-
ularly noticed how cats have shrunk from people who have afterwards be-
come dangerously insane).

Amica, non serva.

The kitten is × ravishing! What an Andalusian dancer! What a bergamasque
harlequin is a kitten playing in a chamber with a ball of yarn, a scrap of
paper, or a ray of sunlight!

The cooing of a dove is less loving than the purring of a cat.

The originality of the cat is to offer in himself an exquisite and harmless
miniature of the wild beasts.

the three last from Saint-Victor.

See Others for Dec. 1918: The king sends three cats to Guenevere.

Channing Pollock told me that on the first night of "The Little Gray Lady" the piece was dying hard. The first scene takes place in a backyard. There had not been a laugh. Suddenly the whole house roared. A cat had appeared on the back fence, jumped down into the ash barrel looking for food and disappeared down the alley. It was the doorman's cat and it had saved the piece. By mean of a train of meat the cat was induced, willingly, to repeat this accident at subsequent performances.

It was Avery Hopwood's intention to have the Countess in Sadie Love carry a cat while Sadie carried a dog. This was tried, unsuccessfully at one or two rehearsals when Grace George produced the piece, but finally abandoned.

See Lavengro, P. 541

See Scribner's for March 1919

Howells writes a cat-fight epic after Pope, See. Lit. Passions, 48

Huysmans like a cat, See Symons, Symbolists, P. 270

There are a few cat ories noted in Gardiner's Music of Nature
but the writer draws no conclusions therefrom. See P. 303.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox: "The Worlds and I", P. 38, 228, 289. and a
picture in back of book.

"Mariage de Loti", P. 34, P 120 and elsewhere in this book.

Look up cats by Caran d'Ache
Feathers.

Does my cat play in the Locrian or Hypolocrian modes?

Claudine a l'Ecole, P. 318, ...and 166-7

The Paliser Case, P. 206

There is evidence in Howells Familiar Spanish studies that
Howell is fond of cats

Troops from Michigan and Wisconsin, 85th Divison went into
battle with yellow cat insignia, known as wild-cat division.

Treat 'em rough cat for tanks.

Claudine a Paris, P. 19

Gourmont; Le chat de misere.

See George Moore's theory about animals in fiction, The Dial,
April 5, 1919. 2nd Gose dialogue, 2nd number.

Hobday, Frederick T. G.: Canine and Feline Surgery. Edinburgh, 1900;
pp. 10, 152; ills.

Jayne, Horace: Mammalian Anatomy; a preparation for human and comparative
anatomy. Phila., 1898; Part I: The skeleton of the cat...compared
with the skeleton of man.

Reighard, Jacob (Ellsworth); and Jennings, H. S.: Anatomy of the Cat.
New York, Holt; (copyright 1901)

Grover, Eulalie Osgood: Kittens and Cats; a book of tales . . . Bost.,
Houghton, 1911.

Jackson, (Mrs.) Gabrielle E(milie) (Snow): The Adventures of Tommy
Postoffice; a true story of a cat. . . Chicago, McClurg, 1905

Patteson, Mrs. S(usanna) Louise: Letters from Pussycatville . . .
Phila., Jacobs, (1903)

Saunders, Margaret Marshall: Pussy Black-Face; or, The story of a
kitten and her friends. . . Bost., Page, 1913

Tappan, Eva March: Dixie Kitten. Bost., Houghton, 1910.

White, Eliza Orne: Brothers in Fur. Bost., Houghton, 1910

Howliston, Mary: Cat-tails and other tales. Chic., 1893.

(Felch, I.): Spratt's Dog Culture; with a chapter on cats . . . Newark,
(copied. 1903); ills.; pp. 100

Goy's eat pictures, Bee Weyhe.

Thomas Trierer's description of little black "Squib" and his successor in "At the Minerva", Harper's Mac. for March 1908. (This copy was being bound at the library Feb. 8, 1902.)

Butth Academy Stammt: The Wenner's Exchange has a picture of a cat.

Cock-Jock and the Cat; the story of a cat and a rooster, P. 200, Gordon Stables "Cats".

One might say sometimes On ne badine pas avec les chats... They will not tolerate rough handling.

There is a picture of Frank Daniels and his cat in the Green book bound in Carl Van Vechten, Opera, Vol. I.

Pret's Generosity, Petland Revisited, P.9.

"Time is that transfigured cat an ironist," P.231 Figures of Earth"

There is a frontispiece full-page portrait by Auguste Leroux of Huysmans and his cat in the de luxe edition of A Rebours published in 1920 at Paris by the Librairie des Amateurs; A. Ferroud-T. Ferroud, successeur; 127 Boulevard St. main. 73-83 DEY STREET T. N. S.W. CH. 77 T. M. N. CH. 77

The
Gulb
AND JOURNAL
ADVERTISER.
DAILY NEWSPAPER
EST. 1875
IN THE UNITED STATES

Dame Wiggins of Lee and her seven wonderful cats. A humourous tale. Written principally by a lady of ninety.

Newman and Co. London. 1823 (reprinted in 1885 by G. Allen)

Felissa: or the life and opinions of a kitten of sentiment

J. Harris; London; 1811 (reprinted by Methuen and Co.; 1903)

Champfleury: The Cat Past and Present. From the French of Champfleury with supplementary notes by Mrs. Cashel Hoey.

G. Bell and Sons; London; 1885

Wain's Annual,

1908 and 1909-10

George Allen and Sons; London

Charles Henry Lane: Rabbits, Cats, and Cavies

J. M. Dent and Co.; London; 1903

Charles Henry Ross: The Book of Cats

Griffith and Farran; London; 1868

Philip V. Rule: The Cat

Swan Sonnenschein, Lowrey and Co.; London; 1887

Henriette Ronner: Cats and Kittens

Cassell and Co.; London; 1894

M. H. Spielmann: Henriette Ronner, the painter of cat life and cat character.

Cassell and Co.; London; 1891

Gordon Stables: Shireen and her Friends: pages from the life of a Persian cat

Jarrold and Sons; London; 1894

Williams, Mrs. Leslie: The Cat; It's Care and Management. Phila.,
Altemus, (1908)

Burkett, Chas. Wm.: Our Domestic Animals; Their habits, intelligence and usefulness. Trans. from the French of Gos. DeVoogt • • • Bost., Ginn, 1907.

Cats, pp. 73-95, with many ills.

Ensign, Hermon Lee: Lady Lee, and other animal stories. Chic.,
McClure, 1902.

Cat stories: "Union Square Jim", pp 67-91; "Baby
and the Kitten", pp. 171-88.

The Intelligence of Animals; with illustrative anecdotes. From the
French of Ernest Menault. (N.Y.) Scrib., 1871
Cats, pp. 298-302

Above titles seen at a Cleveland shop--
second-hand, all of them. Burkett, $1.25;
Menault (hf. cf.), 50¢; didn't get prices
of others.