About: Patrick Grayfur   Sponge Permalink

An Entity of Type : owl:Thing, within Data Space : 134.155.108.49:8890 associated with source dataset(s)

Patrick Grayfur, Esq. is a cat. He belongs to Sara Stanley. He is the great-great-great-great-grandson of a family cat called Topsy. He becomes lost twice in the course of the novels, only to be saved by the grace of Peg Bowen. He passes away at the end of The Golden Road and is buried affectingly.

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  • Patrick Grayfur
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  • Patrick Grayfur, Esq. is a cat. He belongs to Sara Stanley. He is the great-great-great-great-grandson of a family cat called Topsy. He becomes lost twice in the course of the novels, only to be saved by the grace of Peg Bowen. He passes away at the end of The Golden Road and is buried affectingly.
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abstract
  • Patrick Grayfur, Esq. is a cat. He belongs to Sara Stanley. He is the great-great-great-great-grandson of a family cat called Topsy. He becomes lost twice in the course of the novels, only to be saved by the grace of Peg Bowen. He passes away at the end of The Golden Road and is buried affectingly. "By this time we were all sitting down on the gnarled roots of the spruces, and the big gray cat came over and made friends with us. He was a lordly animal, with a silver-gray coat beautifully marked with darker stripes. With such colouring most cats would have had white or silver feet; but he had four black paws and a black nose. Such points gave him an air of distinction, and marked him out as quite different from the common or garden variety of cats. He seemed to be a cat with a tolerably good opinion of himself, and his response to our advances was slightly tinged with condescension." -The Story Girl, ch. 2 "Paddy distinguished himself by catching a rat, and being intolerably conceited about it–until Sara Ray cured him by calling him a "dear, sweet cat," and kissing him between the ears. Then Pat sneaked abjectly off, his tail drooping. He resented being called a sweet cat. He had a sense of humour, had Pat. Very few cats have; and most of them have such an inordinate appetite for flattery that they will swallow any amount of it and thrive thereon. Paddy had a finer taste. The Story Girl and I were the only ones who could pay him compliments to his liking. The Story Girl would box his ears with her fist and say, "Bless your gray heart, Paddy, you're a good sort of old rascal," and Pat would purr his satisfaction; I used to take a handful of the skin on his back, shake him gently and say, "Pat, you've forgotten more than any human being ever knew," and I vow Paddy would lick his chops with delight. But to be called "a sweet cat!" Oh, Sara, Sara!" The Story Girl ch. 15
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