On one occasion he lived nine months
alone in the house while I made a trip to Europe, absolutely refusing
all the neighbors' invitations to enter any other house. A friend's
gardener brought him his daily rations. As warm weather came, he spent
his days in the fields, returning in the night for his food, so that at
my return it was two or three days before he discovered that the house
was open. The third evening he entered the open door, looked wildly
about for a moment, but when I put my hand on him suddenly recognized me
and overwhelmed me with affectionate caresses, and for two days and
nights would not allow me out of his sight, unable to eat or sleep
unless I was close at hand, and following me from room to room and chair
to chair. And people say that cats have no affection!"
At the Quincy House in Boston may be seen in the office an oil painting
of an immense yellow cat. The first time I noticed the picture, I was
proceeding into the dining room, and while waiting for dinner, was
amused at seeing the original of the picture walk sedately in, all
alone, and going to an empty table, seat himself with majestic grace in
a chair. The waiter, seeing him, came forward and pushed up the chair as
he would do for any other guest. The cat then waited patiently without
putting his paws on the table, or violating any other law of table
etiquette, until a plate of meat came, cut up to suit his taste (I did
not hear him give his order), and then, placing his front paws on the
edge of the table, he ate from his plate.
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