They say that witches sail over the sea in riddles accompanied by their black cats, and that they have rather a jolly time of it upon the whole, having plenty to eat, and plenty to drink--flagons of wine, in fact. Don't you believe it, reader. Cats are not afraid of snakes; but snakes, even the dreaded cobra, will invariably give pussy a wide berth. Cats are fond of fish, absurdly so, and if you offer them even the gold-fish, they won't feel offended. It is only out of respect for the owner thereof that they don't devour the canary. They prefer canary living, with the feathers on. It tickles their palates and makes them laugh. Chickens are dainties in a cat's _cuisine_; they also rather like a nice plump partridge, and won't refuse to suck an egg when occasion offers. Cats are, as a rule, Good Templars; the proof of which rule is this: I had a Red Tabby Tom who would eat oatmeal and whisky until he couldn't stand. The servants knew this failing, and encouraged him in his evil ways; so that half his time, instead of being as sober as a judge--as every decent, respectable cat ought--Tom was as drunk as a piper. It is funny to listen to a cat's concert about two o'clock in the morning. Of course, if you are rather nervous, and want to go to sleep, it isn't so funny. (N.B.--If cats were better treated, they would hold their concerts in daylight in the garden, instead of at midnight on the tiles. Mind you, there is something in that.) Altogether, cats are funny things, and the more you study them the funnier you find them. That's so! CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. THE FIRESIDE FAVOURITE.