minutes he crossed backwards and forwards over his brother’s body, giving him frequent slaps with his paws.
Riquet’s nose is a pink-brown, but tending to red-brown.
This evening (ten o'clock) I showed the mother a saucer full of milk; she left her kittens to go and drink it, and afterwards she took a turn at a plate of porridge; her absence lasted barely five minutes. The kittens, during this time, went through their usual manoeuvres: Riquet turned three times running round his brother; the latter, who is more indolent, or perhaps has more need of sleep, stretched himself out full length on his side. Riquet, however, cannot rest till he has found what he is searching for—viz, the body of his mother. He is still in a state of agitation when the cat comes back, raises herself with her front-paws on the edge of the box, and drops quietly down by the side of her little ones without touching them. Instantly they start up, raising their little waggling heads; they know that their mother is there—the slight noise she made in getting into the box, and the movement she imparted to it, are associated in their memory with the idea of her presence.
The mother's first care is to see to their toilet, and she proceeds to turn them over with two
