There were about thirty cats at Mrs. Felton's, and only nine of them were grey like us. There was a ginger cat, with a Roman ribbon round his neck, who took a fancy to me. Freddy could not be parted from a white girl-cat; he likes girls, I hate them. I mean never to marry, but Fred liked female society from the very first. Then there was a black cat who had been on the stage. He said he had been very much neglected in his youth, and once had been walking about on the tops of roofs till he got too far away from his home, and suddenly found himself, on jumping down some steps, or ladder, or something, in a great wide covered place, with people on it, shouting. They all stopped when they saw him, and a man with a stick rapped it and said 'Attention--please, ladies _and_ gentlemen.' He was the business manager, and the black cat had jumped into the middle of a dress rehearsal. The real manager was acting, and he took no notice of the black cat till he was done, and then he wouldn't have it chased away, for, said he, a black cat brings good luck to a theatre. So they fed him, and he lived there, and had perfect liberty to walk about where he pleased. He did go where he pleased, and whether they were acting or not it made no difference to him, he just walked on, so they call it, and smelt their boots, or sat on the ladies' trains, or licked up stage tea-trays if he liked. The reason he was here was that he was the guest of the manager's daughter, who had taken him off the stage because he had brought luck to her father's piece. But he often sighed for the nice merry days. [Illustration: A BLACK CAT BRINGS GOOD LUCK TO A THEATRE.] There were little saucers of milk and warm Ridge's Food dotted about the room, one for each cat. Fred and the white cat, however, chose to drink out of the same saucer. Some of the cats would not stay to be spoken to, but slunk under chairs, and one nice tom hissed and spat. I did feel so ashamed of him. He was left severely to himself while the games were going on, and I was so sorry for him that I went and spoke to him. 'Do you live near here?' I asked. 'Yes,' he said, 'and I wish I was there now. I don't care for this sort of function. I don't see why I should be asked to sit on my hind legs and talk to every idiot who comes up and strokes me and says "Puss! Puss!" I keep thinking of my nice place on the hearthrug at home, and a little tag--what do you call it?--in the hearthrug that I play with. It is worth all these fine toys to me. I would not play with that absurd mouse they are trailing along the ground with shrieks and cries and "Come ons" for anything. It disgusts me. It is too expensive a toy!'