He's my cat--and you've just got to make the best of it." "Oh, well, if you'll settle with Aunt Jimsie and the Sarah-cat," said Stella, with the air of one washing her hands of the whole affair.
From that time Rusty was one of the family.

He slept o'nights on the scrubbing cushion in the back porch and lived on the fat of the land.
By the time Aunt Jamesina came he was plump and glossy and tolerably respectable.

But, like Kipling's cat, he "walked by himself." His paw was against every cat, and every cat's paw against him.

One by one he vanquished the aristocratic felines of Spofford Avenue.

As for human beings, he loved Anne and Anne alone.