"That's my cat," he said, showing him to the countess.

"That's the poor animal that lives with poor Schmucke.

Hasn't he fine fur ?" "Yes," said the countess.
"Will you have him ?" he cried.
"How can you think of such a thing ?" she answered.

"Why, he's your friend!" The cat, who hid the inkstand behind him, divined that Schmucke wanted it, and jumped to the bed.
"He's as mischievous as a monkey," said Schmucke.

"I call him Mirr in honor of our great Hoffman of Berlin, whom I knew well." The good man signed the papers with the innocence of a child who does what his mother orders without question, so sure is he that all is right.