give, and no animal expresses its enjoyment with so much grace and courtesy. "The most untamable of the carnivora," says M. Fée, "is the panther; the most destructive is the cougar; the gentlest is the leopard; the most intelligent is the cat. This last consents to be our guest. She accepts the shelter we offer, and the food we provide. She even permits us to play with her, and fondle her, when she is in a responsive humour. But she never parts with her liberty. She will be neither our servant nor our friend."
True lovers of the race have been attracted rather than repelled by this spirit of equality, this attitude of reserve. "I value in the cat," says Chateaubriand, "the independent and almost ungrateful spirit which prevents her from attaching herself to any one, the indifference with which she passes from the salon to the housetop. When we caress her, she stretches herself, and arches her back responsively; but that is because she feels an agreeable sensation, not because she takes a silly satisfaction, like the dog, in faithfully loving a thankless master. The cat lives alone, has no need of society, obeys only when she pleases, pretends to sleep that she may see the more clearly, and scratches everything on which she can lay her paw."
This is what Chateaubriand called "labouring at the rehabilitation" of his favourite animal; but
