The opening of the shutters awakes him.

He rises and comes forward, yawning and stretching himself.
"'Dear me, is it morning, then ?' he says drowsily.

'Heigh-ho! I've had such a lovely sleep, cook; and such a beautiful dream about poor mother.' "Cats! do you call them?
Why, they are Christians in everything except the number of legs." "They certainly are," I responded, "wonderfully cunning little animals, and it is not by their moral and religious instincts alone that they are so closely linked to man; the marvellous ability they display in taking care of 'number one' is worthy of the human race itself.

Some friends of mine had a cat, a big black Tom: they have got half of him still.

They had reared him from a kitten, and, in their homely, undemonstrative way, they liked him.