stopped, but left open to admit air into the roof, the whole space of the unused interior of the roof was a favourite breeding-place for countless broods of sparrows and starlings. The roof was accessible to human and other intruders by a small trap-door above the lobby at the top of the staircase. It was a square house, of good dimensions, but of only two stories. I have described these particulars in order to be better understood in narrating the circumstances.

It so happened that we wanted some small boards which had been stored away in the roof, and we entered by the aid of a light ladder; and it also happened that puss, unobserved, followed the example of the man-servant and myself, but from quite another motive, prompted, doubtless, by the chirping of the birds, it being early summer. As soon, however, as we could get Tom down, we closed the trap, and returned the ladder to its proper place. About a month afterwards, I had to resort to the roof again, and accordingly went for the ladder, which was kept against a fence at another part of the premises. As soon as I brought the ladder into the back yard, and laid it on the ground, in order to unfasten a door leading straight into the hall, Tom became suddenly most excited with delight. He must have seen the ladder often since he entered the roof by it, as it was used for various purposes, such as lighting the outdoor lamps, window-cleaning, etc. But now he at once conceived, by a most sagacious inference, my intention. He paced about the yard, close to the ladder, tail erect, and talking as only an earnest and happy cat can talk. Immediately I took the ladder in and hoisted it through the well of the staircase, he scaled it like a squirrel, and was waiting for me to follow upstairs. As soon then as I drew the ladder up, and raised the trap with the end of it, and while it was in my hands, he clambered up and out of sight. Before going up myself I thought it best to await Tom’s return, and there was but little time lost before he came down, stile by stile, with a sparrow in his mouth. Then I at once brought down what I wanted, closed the trap, returned the ladder to its place, and the birds afterwards enjoyed undisturbed safety and peace.

There was, about the same time, a tortoiseshell cat at the house of a relative which became much attached to me. Her affection was so strong that she even knew my knock at the front door from that of anybody else. On hearing my knock, she would speak in her loving and expressive tone, and meet me in the hall. She was an adult cat, the mother of many kittens, and yet, notwithstanding the cares of life, she delighted in a most remarkable little eccentricity of her own. It was the peculiar habit of taking the pendent lobe of my ear into her mouth and sucking it with charming avidity. The peculiar sensation felt under the operation, though not unpleasant to me, was not enjoyed or tolerated by other persons, and she was sometimes rather rudely repulsed when trying to practise upon strangers.

Those who admire and observe the habits of cats may have noticed that when two are snugly engaged together in dressing their fur, they are often mutually pleased in paying particular attention to the face and ears of each other. A short time ago I was pleased and amused with two charming kittens upon my knee. They were each equally resolved to lick the face and ears of the other, and tried hard to prevail. Eventually, one became resolute, and placing her left arm round her brother’s shoulder and her right paw upon his cheek, she licked and nibbled into his short, round velvet ear (for they were little over two months old at the time), to her utmost satisfaction and his evident enjoyment.

As is well known, the cat often evinces to a remarkable degree an instinctive power, if such it may be called, of finding its way back to a home from which it has been removed. Some years ago, an officer of the Royal Marines, upon promotion, removed from his private quarters at Stonehouse, Plymouth, to Portsmouth. Having a favourite cat,—a black male of about twelve months old,—he resolved to send it to Portsmouth by rail in a hamper. It arrived at its destination safely enough, but on the afternoon of the day following, which was Sunday, it was missing, but was actually found in the garden of its beloved home at Stonehouse on the evening of Wednesday in the ensuing week. It was at once recognised and taken charge of by a kind neighbour, who knew the cat well. Considering it went by train, secured in a hamper, it is difficult even to conjecture by what means it was guided homewards, a distance of about a hundred and thirty miles as the crow flies, and within ten or eleven days. I was living at Stonehouse at the time this strange occurrence took place,—about nineteen years ago,—and narrate the particulars from memory.

CHAPTER III.

FOOD.

Although the cat is in many respects so hardy an animal as to have the popular reputation of possessing nine lives, we must bear in mind that puss is not of such an iron constitution as to be entirely independent of all care. No animal better repays its owner for the attention rightly bestowed upon it than does the cat. Pussy’s wants are not many, and are very simple indeed. It is the duty of every owner of pet animals first to ascertain the nature and requirements of his charge, and then to use that knowledge with thought and right feeling. Subsequent experience also proves a good teacher, and especially so when it is supported by previous knowledge.

Being normally a purely carnivorous creature, the cat requires to subsist principally upon animal food. But, nevertheless, owing to its long established association with mankind, the domestic cat has acquired a constitutional capacity for subsisting upon a somewhat miscellaneous bill of fare. Consequently, the intestines of the tame cat are said to be slightly longer and somewhat wider than in the wild races—the latter requiring a rather less lengthened process in digesting the simple and highly nutritious diet which instinct teaches them to select. But still our puss is, as God created her, a perfect beast of prey. There is no complicated stomach, as in the ox, antelope, sheep, and other ruminants—no perfect grinders, like mill-stones, as in the mouth of the horse, elephant, hog, etc. The dentition of the cat, as also that of the lion, leopard, ocelot, lynx, and other Felidæ, is beautifully adapted by the all-wise Creator for holding, tearing, or devouring their living prey. On inspecting the teeth of a cat, the four large, powerful, and sharply pointed canine teeth, or fangs, will naturally attract attention. With these the prey is seized, and is usually carried, or the piercing and fatal bite is effected. It will be noticed, by the way, that a cat, if possible, always carries a mouse or a bird, quite away from the spot where it may have been captured. The attack is, however, made with the claws first, and the cat does not seize with teeth only, as does the dog. At the front, between the tusks, will be seen six small incisors, and back, behind the tusks, on fangs, are the molar and premolar, or crushing teeth. The dentition of the cat is as follows (the letters i, c, p, m signifying incisor, canine, premolar, and molar):—