THE “INTELLECTUAL CAT.”

(For the Mirror.)

The cat mania has hitherto been more popular in France than in England.  To be sure, we have the threadbare story of Whittington and his cat; Mrs. Griggs and her 86 living and 28 dead cats; Peter King and his two cats in rich liveries; Foote’s concert of cats; and the newspaper story of tortoiseshell male cats—­but in France, cats keep better company, or at least are associated with better names.  Thus, MOLIERE had his favourite cat; Madame de Puis, the celebrated harpplayer, settled a pension on her feline friend, which caused a law-suit, and brought into action all the most celebrated lawyers of France; and M. L’Abbe de Fontenu was in the habit of experimenting on these animals, one of which he found could exist twenty-six months without drinking! which fact is recorded in the History of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris, 1753.

Our present portrait is, however, of more recent date, being a free translation from Le Furet de Londres, a French paper published in London, whose columns are an agreeable accompaniment for a cup of coffee.  It is a mere bagatelle, and as an amusive trifle may not be unacceptable.

My pretty little Puss, it is high time that I should pay a just tribute to your merits.  We often talk of people who do not esteem you; therefore, why should I blush to give publicity to your perfection?

You are exceedingly well made; your fur boasts of the delicate varieties of the tiger; your eyes are lively and pleasing; your velvet coat and tail are of enviable beauty; and your agility, gracefulness, and docility are, indeed, the admiration of all who behold you!  Your moral qualities are not less estimable; and we will attempt to recapitulate them.

In the first place, you love me dearly, or at least you load me with caresses; unless, like the rest of the world, you love me for yourself’s sake.  I know well that you like me less than a slice of mutton, or the leg of a fowl, but that is very simple; I am your master, and a leg of mutton is as good again as one master, twice as good as two masters, &c.

You possess great sense, and good sense too, for you have precisely such as is most useful to you; for every other kind of knowledge will make you appear foolish.

Nature has given you nails, which men unpolitely call claws; they are admirably constructed, and well jointed in a membrane, which is extended or drawn up like the fingers of a glove; and at pleasure it becomes a terrific claw, or a paw of velvet.

You understand the physical laws of good and evil.  A cat who strangles another will not be more culpable than a man who kills his fellow men.  My dear Cat, the great Hobbes never reasoned more clearly than you do!

You forget the past—­you dream not of the future; but you turn the present to account.  Time flies not with you, but stands still, and all your moments appear but as one.  You know that your muscles will give action to your limbs, and you know no other cause of your existence, than existence itself.  My dear Cat, you are a profound materialist!