In pictures of the Annunciation, the cat that occasionally lies curled at the Blessed Virgin's feet lends to a subject, so fraught with spiritual significance, an air of homely simplicity. Her presence, like that of the water jar, or the open basket heaped with unfinished sewing, serves to indicate the modest routine of daily life, interrupted so strangely by the Archangel's message. There is an Annunciation by Barocci which hangs in the Vatican Gallery, and in which we see a fine grey cat sleeping undisturbed upon the Virgin's work; while in another painting by the same artist at Budapest, a cat rests tranquilly on a cushion, looking with half-shut, indifferent eyes at the angelic visitor. Indifference is, in fact, her rôle in art. The most riotous Annunciation in all Christendom is a partly obliterated fresco by Taddeo Zucchero, on the portico of the hospital of Santa Maria Nuova in Florence. Scores of angels, broad-pinioned, athletic, and, for the most part, naked, accompany Gabriel on his mission. They wing their tumultuous flight through the air, darting hither and thither, playing clamorously upon every kind of musical instrument, and circling about the Blessed Maid, who stands, timid and frightened, in the farthest corner of the room. On a chair close at hand lies a cat, drowsily watching the celestial multitude. She uncurls her limbs, and lifts her head a little, as though startled from sleep, but that
