After incommoding me for some time by rustling newspapers, and making spasmodic struggles to find a posture that suited him, my master found one at last and fell asleep, and I crept up to the velvet collar of his great-coat and followed his example.

CHAPTER III.

I like living with bachelors.  They have comfortable chairs, and keep good fires.  They don’t put water into the tea-pot:  they call the man-servant and send for more tea.  They don’t give you a table-spoonful of cream, fidgeting and looking round to see if anybody else wants it:  one of them turns the jug upside-down into your saucer, and before another can lay hold of it and say, “Halloa!  The milk’s all gone,”—­you have generally had time to lap it up under the table.

I prefer men’s outsides, too, to women’s in some respects.  Why all human beings—­since they have no coats of their own, and are obliged to buy them—­do not buy handsomely marked furs whilst they are about it, is a puzzle to a cat.  As to the miserable stuff ladies cover themselves with in an evening, there is about as much comfort and softness in it as in going to sleep on a duster.  Men’s coats are nothing to boast of, either to look at or to feel, but they are thicker.  If you happen to clutch a little with gratification or excitement, your claws don’t go through; and they don’t squeak like a mouse in a trap and call you treacherous because their own coats are thin.

I was very comfortable in my new home.  My master was exceedingly kind to me, and he has a fearless and friendly way of tickling one’s toes which is particularly agreeable, and not commonly to be met with.

Yes, my life was even more luxurious than before.  It is so still.  To eat, drink, and sleep, to keep oneself warm, and in good condition, and to pay proper attention to one’s personal appearance; that is all one has to do in a life like mine in bachelors’ quarters.

One has unpleasant dreams sometimes.  I think my tea is occasionally too strong, though I have learned to prefer it to milk, and my master always gives it to me in his own saucer.  If he has friends to tea, they give me some in their saucers.  One can’t refuse, but I fancy too much tea is injurious to the nerves.

The night before last, I positively dreamed that I was deserted.  I fancied that I was chased along a housetop, and fell from the gutter.  Down—­down—­but I woke up on the bear-skin before the fire, as our man-servant was bringing in candles.

It made me wonder how Mrs. Tabby was getting on.  I had never done anything further in that matter; but really when one’s life goes in a certain groove, and everything one can wish for is provided in abundance, one never seems to have time for these things.  It is wonderful how energetic some philanthropic people are.  I dare say they like the fuss. (I can’t endure fuss!) And Mrs. Tabby’s appearance—­excellent