When I was well enough to leave my room, she transferred him to my lower
bureau drawer, and then to a vantage-point behind an old lounge. But she
never doubted, apparently, that it was the loan of that kitten that
rescued me from an untimely grave.

I have lost many an hour of much-needed sleep from my cat's habit of
coming upstairs at four A.M. and jumping suddenly upon the bed; perhaps
landing on the pit of my stomach. Waking in that fashion, unsympathetic
persons would have pardoned me if I had indulged in injudicious
language, or had even thrown the cat violently from my otherwise
peaceful couch. But conscience has not to upbraid me with any of these
things. I flatter myself that I bear even this patiently; I remember to
have often made sleepy but pleasant remarks to the faithful little
friend whose affection for me and whose desire to behold my countenance
was too great to permit her to wait till breakfast time.

If I lay awake for hours afterward, perhaps getting nothing more than
literal "cat-naps," I consoled myself with remembering how Richelieu,
and Wellington, and Mohammed, and otherwise great as well as
discriminating persons, loved cats; I remembered, with some stirrings of
secret pride, that it is only the artistic nature, the truly aesthetic
soul that appreciates poetry, and grace, and all refined beauty, who
truly loves cats; and thus meditating with closed eyes, I courted
slumber again, throughout the breaking dawn, while the cat purred in
delight close at hand.

The Pretty Lady was evidently of Angora or coon descent, as her fur was
always longer and silkier than that of ordinary cats. She was fond of
all the family. When we boarded in Boston, we kept her in a front room,