I admit I am a complete fool about cats, who, for some reason I don't understand, fail to return my admiration. I will wait minutes for cars to pass so that I can cross the road to address a black and white cat at ease in sunshine on a low wall, either to watch the tip of a frightened tail disappear under a neighboring gate or to be met with the most violent cat curses or, while my hand moves gently over the smooth shining fur, to be bitten or scratched or attacked in both ways at the same time. It makes no difference: I continue my journey with my respect increased. After all, the wisest men of one of the oldest civilizations worshipped the noble cat so why should I be ashamed of following their example? I have sometimes stayed long enough in one place to be owned by a cat and it is on those occasions that I at last feel sympathy with parents who cannot control their children. I have the firmest belief in discipline, especially for the cat who adopts me and is kind enough to allow me to share her home and provide her with food. She will have a comfortable basket and not sit on any furniture she will come when called or have no supper and she will at all times behave towards me with the respect I show towards her. And then what happens? She refuses even to consider the basket, and, as soon as my back is turned, settles on my favorite chair, daring me to move her on my return. At some unexpected moment after I have sat down, she springs suddenly on to my knees and delightedly ruins my stockings with her claws, complaining angrily, even painfully with the sharpest of teeth, if I bend down to pick something up. I dare not rise to change the television program, however much I dislike it, and she watches dreamily the moving shadows on the screen. She comes not to my call, but when she is ready, hours later, and I am so relieved to see her that her supper is increased in amount. When put out at night (with fierce disapproval) she waits till I am asleep and then cries noisily at my bedroom to come in. An hour later she cries even more noisily at the bedroom door to be let out again. If I go away on holiday, a neighbor feeds her, who reports on my return on her sweetness, her obedience and perfect behavior. I am the only one that she delights in defying. Dogs are pleasant animals, friendly, faithful and intelligent. Dogs have proper respect for the human race. You know where you are with a dog never with a cat, who will be selfish, vain, ungrateful and quite unreasonable. But that's just it. Who wants to know where he is with any living thing? It is the free, the strange creature of grace and beauty, the independent and unknown, that attracts, not the worthy, respectful, dependable slave. What is the writer's feeling for cats?