The cat did not disturb him by her purring, though
she was, indeed, already purring. She was one of those cozy,
youngish cats--plump, even a little full-bodied, perhaps, and
rather conscious of the figure--that are entirely conventional
and domestic by nature, and will set up a ladylike housekeeping
anywhere without making a fuss about it. If there be a fault in
these cats, overcomplacency might be the name for it; they err a
shade too sure of themselves, and their assumption that the world
means to treat them respectfully has just a little taint of the
grande dame. Consequently, they are liable to great outbreaks of
nervous energy from within, engendered by the extreme surprises
that life sometimes holds in store for them. They lack the
pessimistic imagination.
Mrs. Williams's cat was content upon a strange floor and in the
confining enclosure of a strange box. She purred for a time, then
trustfully fell asleep. 'Twas well she slumbered; she would need
all her powers presently.
She slumbered, and dreamed not that she would wake to mingle with
events that were to alter her serene disposition radically and
cause her to become hasty-tempered and abnormally suspicious for
the rest of her life.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273