Graves, C. L. and Lucas, E. V.

“ One day early in April, 1902, the cat—whom we called Beethoven because of his indulgence in moonlight fantasias—came to the back door mewing, and on opening the door my father found that it had lost an eye—probably in a fight—and evidently wished him to supply the loss artificially, which he did. I have never heard a cat purr so loudly as Beethoven did on that occasion. ”

“ He was of some rare breed and very beautiful in appearance—a blend between a marmadillo and a young loofah—but so savage that no one dared to touch him. During the cold months of the year we placed bottles of stout in the summerhouse for him, the corks of which he drew with his claws, which were remarkably long. In the summer-time he used to forage for himself, subsisting mainly on roach, with an occasional conger-eel which he caught in the Dodder. ”