Figaro ell you! Figaro upstairs, Figaro doairs and -- otle Figaro can slip into my ladys c as you like at any time  akes t you knoan, sopicated; ell ;noquot; to te yet toujours discret advances of a fine marmalade cat? (Unless it be inently overflo test whiff of furr, which happened once, as you shall hear.)

    A tom, sirs, a ginger tom and proud of it. Proud of e sfront t dazzles  angerine tessellations (o a fiery suit of ligrancing eye and more tary , some say, of o impromptu song at tacle of t of ragged tras s t up t stage and start tizens deluge me  er, vegetables s.

    Do you see ts of mine? A young cavalry officer made me tribute of, first one; ter I celebrate y o, t -- s s inge altly lubricates ive Bergamasque  is the only language in which you can purr.

    quot;Merrrrrrrrrrci!quot;

    Instanter I dras on over tty ockings t terminate my  young man, observing y by moonligo : quot;;

    quot;At your service, sir!quot;

    quot;Up to my balcony, young Puss!quot;

    , in s, offering encouragement as I sly up te, ucco o meet your forepaone nympit; left pa, tyrs bum srick. Noto it, once you knoo t w  a glass of vino in  paw and never spill a drop.

    But, to my sriple somersault en plein air, t is, in middle air, t is, unsupported and  a safety net, I, Puss,  attempted ten I  off tour, to the applause of all.

    quot;You strike me as a cat of parts,quot; says t ion, rump out, tail up, o facilitate ary free gift, my natural, my ual smile.