himself on the nape of his neck, like a forked pear tree, only to roll
over shamefully into the potato field....

All that will come to pass, Fire, exactly as I've told it. To-day the
future dawns in your new flame.... I'm growing drowsy.... My purr and
your crackling are ceasing together.... I see you still and already I
catch glimpses of my dreams.... The silky sound of the rain against the
window is soft as a caress, and the water-pipe on the roof sobs low like
a pigeon....

Don't go out during my nap, Fire. Remember, you're the guardian of my
august repose--that delicate death, known as a Cat's sleep....



THE STORM


_A suffocating summer's day in the country. The blinds of the house are
half closed. Not a sound is heard from within; not a murmur from the
parched garden, where even the sensitive leaves of the mimosa hang
motionless_.

KIKI-THE-DEMURE _and_ TOBY-DOG _begin to feel uncomfortably conscious of
the coming storm, which is yet but a slate-blue plinth thickly painted
at the bottom of the dull blue sky-wall._

TOBY-DOG, (_restlessly lying first on one side, then on the other_) No
use! I can't be comfortable. What does this heat mean anyway? I must be
sick. It began at breakfast; I didn't like the meat and sniffed