Books with title The Owl and the Pussy-Cat and Other Stories

"The cat is, above all things, a dramatist; its life is lived in an endless romance though the drama is played out on quite another stage than our own, and we only enter into it as subordinate characters, as stage managers, or rather stage carpenters.”A collection of enchanting cat tales and personal pet stories written in the Victoria era by world renown British Egyptologist Margaret Benson.Meet Persis, the passionate Persian who loved praise and admiration, Alexander the cat who is ever ready for a nap, Mentu the mysterious train-riding kitten, Taffy the affectionate and aristocratic collie, Ra the pompous blue Persian, and Confucius the self-possessed Chow dog.Told with observational accuracy and compassion, these animal stories depict the lives and characters of the cats, birds and dogs that she surrounded herself with throughout her life. A talented artist and painter, she made oils of the animals she knew and loved. “Everyone who is intimate with cats should read Miss Benson’s book … it is evident from the title of the book that she has perceived that cats have souls, and that she knows something of the nature of the feline soul.” - New York Times review, 1901.This classic collection of cat and other stories about the animal human bond is perfect for cat lovers, Anglophiles and fans of Victorian English culture.

Originally published: 1922“There was once a cat which was not in the least like any cat you have ever seen, or I either, for the matter of that. It was a fairy cat, you see, and so you would rather expect it to be different, wouldn’t you? It had a violet nose, indigo eyes, pale blue ears, green front legs, a yellow body, orange back legs and a red tail. In fact, it was coloured with all the colours of the rainbow, and on that account it was known as the Rainbow Cat … It lived, of course, in Fairyland, and it had all sorts of strange adventures. I am going to tell you some of them, and I think you will agree with me that it really had a very thrilling time, one way or another.”

I was sick of Gordon Barraclough. Sick of his bullying. And I was sick of him being a good footballer. 'Listen, Barraclough. My uncle is Bobby Charlton.' 'You're a liar.' I was. 'I'm not. Cross my heart and hope to die.' I spat on my hand. If I'd dropped down dead on the spot I wouldn't have been surprised. 'Funny and moving.... a rare gift.' Guardian