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The London Cat<br />
THE CAT<br />
On summer mornings from four a. m. to five,<br />
London ceases to belong to <strong>the</strong> world of men, and<br />
is given over to birds and <strong>cat</strong>s. At this really be-<br />
witching hour, for <strong>the</strong> city <strong>the</strong>n is beautiful, <strong>the</strong><br />
<strong>cat</strong>s may be seen, as at no o<strong>the</strong>r time, rerum domini,<br />
masters of <strong>the</strong> town. It is not for nothing that<br />
<strong>the</strong> race has for generations maintained its inde-<br />
pendence, and asserted its right to roam. For at<br />
that hour all <strong>the</strong> dogs are shut up, all <strong>the</strong> boys<br />
and grown people are asleep. The city is <strong>the</strong>irs.<br />
The demeanour of London <strong>cat</strong>s at four a. m. is one<br />
of assured freedom. They stroll about <strong>the</strong> streets<br />
and gardens with a quiet air of possession. They<br />
converse in <strong>the</strong> centre of highways. They walk<br />
with feline abandon and momentary magnificence<br />
over open squares. In <strong>the</strong> silver grey of a London<br />
dawn <strong>the</strong>y are no longer domestic pets, <strong>the</strong>y are<br />
gentlemen at large.<br />
The Spectator.