COME with me into Canada or the northern United States and we'll visit Mr. and Mrs. Lynx in their lair. We'll go into the great silent woods peopled by the forest folk, who have come through the long white winter with its bitter cold and scarcity of food, and now are enjoying the soft spring days with their warmth and abundant food.
A wail like the cry of a woman cuts the silence and we recognise Mrs. Lynx's voice. The print of her broad foot guides us to her home. An old log presents itself and we peep in and there lie two reddish brown little kitties, handsomely spotted, snuggled away in the hollow log. We are looking at the Lynx children. They are blind at first like our domestic kittens.
In appearance they are not much different from the kittens of the backyard, except they are