regularly at night when the family does. They are waiting in the kitchen
for breakfast when the fire is started in the morning. Then they go out
of doors and play, or hunt, or ruminate until ten o'clock, when they
come in, seek their favorite resting-places, and sleep until four.
Evidently, from four to five is a play hour, and the one who wakes first
is expected to stir up the others. But at exactly five, no matter where
they may have strayed to, every one of the three, five, or seven (as the
number may happen to be) will be sitting in his own particular place in
the kitchen, waiting with patient eagerness for supper. For each has a
particular place for eating, just as bigger folk have their places at
the dining table. Thomas Erastus sits in a corner; the space under the
table is reserved especially for Jane. Pompanita is at his mistress's
feet, and Lady Betty, the Angora, bounds to her shoulder when their meat
appears. Their table manners are quite irreproachable also. It is
considered quite unpardonable to snatch at another's piece of meat, and
a breach of the best cat-etiquette to show impatience while another is
being fed.

I do not pretend to say that this is entirely natural. They are taught
these things as kittens, and since cats are as great sticklers for
propriety and gentle manners as any human beings can be, they never
forget it. Doubtless, this is easier because they are always well fed,
but Thomas Erastus or Jane would have to be on the verge of starvation,
I am sure, before they would "grab" from one of the other cats. And as
for the Pretty Lady, it was always necessary to see that she was
properly served. She would not eat from a dish with other cats, or,
except in extreme cases, from one they had left. Indeed, she was
remarkable in this respect. I have seen her sit on the edge of a table
where chickens were being dressed and wait patiently for a tidbit; I
have seen her left alone in the room, while on that table was a piece of