ONE fine day, without intervention, seized by some sudden whim, the indifference of Pussy White changed to a tender friendship. She came deliberately to Pussy Gray and rubbed her nose against her own affectionately, which is with her race the equivalent of a kiss. Sylvester, who was present at the performance, showed himself skeptical regarding its good intent. “Did you see,” said I, “the kiss of peace?” “Oh no, sir!” he replied, in that tone of accomplished connoisseur, assumed whenever any question arises concerning my cats, dogs, horses, or any other animals;[50] “Oh no, sir! it is simply that Pussy White wishes to ascertain if Pussy Gray has been stealing her meat.”
He was mistaken for once nevertheless,—and from that hour they were fast friends. They could be seen sitting in the same chair, eating the same food, even from the same plate, and every morning running to exchange salutations, rubbing together the tips of their soft noses, one yellow, the other pink.
(XIV)