Montmorency imagined himself to an angel sent on earth in the shape of a small fox-terrier. There was a noble expression on the dog's face as if he seemed to be too pure for the profane world he inhabited that could bring tears into the eyes of pious old ladies and gentlemen. Montmorency had an intense dislike towards cats which manifested itself in the his display of canine power over the poor creatures. Montmorency would give a cry of joy at the sight of a cat and run after it. His victim was a large black Tom, a larger cat he had not seen or more disreputable looking. It had lost half its tail, one of its ears and a fairly appreciable proportion of its nose. It was long, sinewy looking animal with a calm, contented air about it. Montmorency bounded after it at the rate of twenty miles an hour but the cat did not hurry. It seemed as if he could not grasp that his life was in danger. The cat continued to trot quietly until its would-be assassin was within a yard of it and then turned around and sat down in the middle of the road. It looked at the dog with a gentle, inquiring expression that seemed to question if Montmorency wanted it. The latter did not lose pluch but there was something about the look of that cat that might have chilled the heart of the boldest dog. He stopped abruptly and looked back at Tom.Their silent exchange of looks seemed to have been the politest form of agreement upon the fact that Montmorency had possibly mistaken the cat for someone he knew and having resolved it to be a mistake, they would part amicably. The cat rose and continued on its trot while Montmoreny fittingly tucked his tail between his legs and came back to the men, taking up an unimportant position in the rear, suitably chastised. It was due to that incident that Montmorency would visibly shrink if the word 'cat' was uttered and look up piteously, seemingly imploring them not to invoke the memory of that incident.