She liked his colour, and took a mother's pride in his tail.
What troubled her was that it would cock up over his head.

She would hold it down with one paw, and lick it by the half-hour together, trying to make it set properly.

But the moment she let it go up it would cock again.

I have heard her cry with vexation because of this.
One day a neighbouring cat came to see her, and the squirrel was clearly the subject of their talk.
"It's a good colour," said the friend, looking critically at the supposed kitten, who was sitting up on his haunches combing his whiskers, and saying the only truthfully pleasant thing about him that she could think of.
"He's a lovely colour," exclaimed our cat proudly.
"I don't like his legs much," remarked the friend.
"No," responded his mother thoughtfully, "you're right there.

His legs are his weak point.