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THE MEMOIRS OF A CAT
disposed off simply by the retort : Well, why not? That would be, in my opinion, quite a pertinent answer to what appears to me to be a rather impertinent question. But I am not over-bearing. On the contrary, as mentioned above, it is with some hesitation that I am going to tell my story.
I have had occasions to observe men from close quarters. It may be pointed out incidentally that, having passed my short life in a prison, I have never come in contact with human beings of my sex. But I dare say that in many respects, particularly of biological nature, they fecl and act much as I do myself. In addition to my personal experience, I can count upon the accumulated experience of my whole species. Although cats are never really domesticated, in the sense of being enslaved, yet, with thcir spit-fire nature, partially preserved against selfish human affection, my kind have acquired access to that intimate corner of human existence where all put-up appearances fall away.
We haunt the hearth and home, and therefore enjoy the uncommon opportunity of finding out man in his true nature. Unfortunately, I have not lived in a human home ; but prison is also an interesting place. Here also the beast in man creeps out of his human skin ; and one, with the keen power of cynical observation possessed by my species, encounters all sorts of amusing and illuminating mental phenomena. Besides, I have in
