His
father was Ajax, his mother was Madame Ref, and Mrs. Wilcox raised him.
She has taught him many cunning tricks. He will sit up like a bear, and
when his mistress says, "Hug me, Banjo," he puts both white paws around
her neck and hugs her tight. Then she says, "Turn the other cheek," and
he turns his furry chops for her to kiss. He also plays "dead," and
rolls over at command. He, too, is fond of literary work, and
superintends his mistress's writing from a drawer of her desk. Goody
Two-eyes is another of Mrs. Wilcox's pets, and has one blue and one
topaz eye.
Who has not read Agnes Repplier's fascinating essays on "Agrippina" and
"A Kitten"? I cannot quite believe she gives cats credit for the
capacity for affection which they really possess, but her description of
"Agrippina" is charming:--
"Agrippina's beautifully ringed tail flapping across my copy distracts
my attention and imperils the neatness of my penmanship. Even when she
is disposed to be affable, turns the light of her countenance upon me,
watches with attentive curiosity every stroke I make, and softly, with
curved paw, pats my pen as it travels over the paper, even in these
halcyon moments, though my self-love is flattered by her condescension,
I am aware that I should work better and more rapidly if I denied myself
this charming companionship. But, in truth, it is impossible for a lover
of cats to banish these alert, gentle, and discriminating little
friends, who give us just enough of their regard and complaisance to
make us hunger for more.
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