the babies and the mothers, can be removed without trouble. We put
them into baskets. The Tom has one to himself, so that the peace may
be kept. The journey is made by carriage, in company with my family.
Nothing striking happens before our arrival. Released from their
hampers, the females inspect the new home, explore the rooms one by
one; with their pink noses they recognize the furniture: they find
their own seats, their own tables, their own arm-chairs; but the
surroundings are different. They give little surprised miaows and
questioning glances. A few caresses and a saucer of milk allay all
their apprehensions; and, by the next day, the mother Cats are
acclimatised.

It is a different matter with the Tom. We house him in the attics,
where he will find ample room for his capers; we keep him company, to
relieve the weariness of captivity; we take him a double portion of
plates to lick; from time to time, we place him in touch with some of
his family, to show him that he is not alone in the house; we pay him
a host of attentions, in the hope of making him forget Orange. He
appears, in fact, to forget it: he is gentle under the hand that pets
him, he comes when called, purrs, arches his back. It is well: a week
of seclusion and kindly treatment have banished all notions of
returning. Let us give him his liberty. He goes down to the kitchen,
stands by the table like the others, goes out into the garden, under
the watchful eye of Aglae, who does not lose sight of him; he prowls
all around with the most innocent air. He comes back. Victory! The
Tom-cat will not run away.

Next morning:

'Puss! Puss!'