the cat - World eBook Library

THE CAT=
more than half suspect him of composing a volume
of memoirs, scribbling feverishly at night in some
remote gutter by the light of his own gleaming
eyes. Alas, that such compositions should have
been lost forever
Don Pierrot never went to bed until I came home
at night. I found him always waiting for me at
the door, and he received me with enthusiasm, rub-
bing himself against my legs, arching his back, and
purring a loud welcome. Then he would stalk be-
fore me like a groom of the chamber, prepared no
doubt to carry my candle had I entrusted it to him.
He slept on the headboard of my bed, perched
safely like a bird on a bough; but in the early
morning would descend from this lofty station, and
lie patiently by my side until it was time to get up.
On one point Pierrot was inflexible. Like the
concierge, he considered that midnight was quite
late enough for me to be abroad. It so happened,
however, that the little club known as the " Society
of the Four Candles," because four candles in four
silver candlesticks lit up the four corners of the
table, was formed about this time ; and our discus-
sions were often so prolonged and so engrossing
that, like Cinderella, we took no count of the hour.
For several nights Pierrot waited up for me until
two o'clock; then, seriously concerned, he marked
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