HE spends whole evenings on your lap, letting his purr run on, happy to be with you and forsaking the company of animals of his own species.
In vain do mewings wail upon the roof-tops, summoning him to one of those night-gatherings of cats in which a kipper takes the place of tea. He will not be tempted, but prolongs his vigil in your company.
If you put him down onto the floor, he will clamber back at once to his accustomed spot, with a sort of coo that is a gentle reproach.
Sometimes, as he stands before you, he will look at you with eyes so melting, so mellow, so caressing and so human, that it is almost scary: for it is impossible to suppose that there is no thinking mind behind them.
translated from the French