her presence should betray them to their death. She sometimes seeks, in this her utmost need, help from those whom her instinct bids her trust, as the poor cat at Madras fled to her former master for protection. M. Pierquin de Gembloux tells us of a cat that belonged to M. Moreau de Saint Méry, and that had never been permitted to rear a single kitten. When she gave birth to her third litter, the servant, wishing to be as kind as cruelty would permit, stole from her only one little victim each day, in order that she might grow accustomed "tout doucement" to her loss. For five mornings this relentless robbery was continued, until but a single kitten remained in the basket. Then, desperate and determined, the cat carried this survivor into her master's study, leaped to his lap, and laid it gently upon his knee, looking in his face with a mute prayer that could neither be misunderstood nor rejected. M. de Saint Méry gave orders that the kitten should be spared; but its mother, too fearful to trust her good fortune, brought it back every morning for weeks, laid it regularly on his knee or at his feet, and besought anew his merciful interference.
Even in happier homes, maternity brings to the cat a host of tender cares. She is never without solicitude, and shows in a hundred pretty ways her anxiety for the safety and welfare of her children.
