MOSBY, THE KENNEDY CENTER CAT, by Beppie Noyes, VSP Books, Alexandria, Va., 125 pages, hardcover, $14.95.

Millions of dollars and much planning went into the design and construction of the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington, D.C. Contributions to its splendor came from all over the world. It was to be the site of concerts, theatrical performances and lavish banquets — and the home of a unique feline. Fortunately for us, Beppie Noyes has captured his story in “Mosby, The Kennedy Center Cat.”

During construction of the Kennedy Center, Ed, the building manager, fed stray cats there to keep the rat population down. The day the last of the foundation was poured the other cats were lured away. But Mosby was separated from his family and became trapped inside.

Mosby had to learn to fend for himself. There was not enough prey for him to survive by hunting. While on the trail of an appetizing scent in the center cafeteria, the cat fell into hot soup and burned his paws.

Becoming increasingly wary of humans, Mosby used the air ducts as his roadway to places all over the center and claimed refuge in the top of the building. The big, gray, wild cat ventured out to eavesdrop on theatrical performances and to steal tidbits from banquets before the arrival of invited diners. Lobster was a favorite. His stealth earned him his name. Col. John Mosby, the “Gray Ghost,” was a Civil War officer.

Mosby gradually won a caring group of admirers. Food and water were left out for him. A secretary who fed Mosby called Noyes and convinced her to write his story. His initially skeptical biographer, unable to catch a glimpse of him, came to love him, “perhaps because I only saw him with my heart.”

Not everyone approved of Mosby’s presence. Some found his howls during plays and concerts disquieting. Henri, the banquet manager, did not appreciate his thefts. Eventually, Ed came under conflicting pressures from his boss, Roger, who ordered him to get rid of that cat, and Roger’s wife, Christine, who was determined that no harm would come to Mosby.

Noyes, christened Beatrice Angelique and renamed by a younger brother who couldn’t pronounce Betty, had learned to read by the time she was . Her first day of kindergarten she found the work too easy. “I can string beads at home. I came here to learn.” She was immediately promoted to first grade.

The genesis of Noyes’ children’s books lay in the bedtime stories she made up for her own four children. Her introduction to art came much earlier.

Every year when she was growing up, Noyes left Detroit to spend the summer in Maine. Each night she and her siblings were read the works of writers such as Charles Dickens and Kenneth Roberts. She has fond memories of those cozy evenings and not-so-fond memories of sewing.

The children were required to keep their hands busy while listening. Noyes was set to work quilting, a task she found difficult and frustrating. Wanting to stop ruining the quilt and knowing she had to be industrious, she asked if she could draw instead. She found it much more rewarding. And her pictures were not stained with blood as her stitchery had been.

When Noyes was writing “Mosby, The Kennedy Center Cat,” she was deeply offended by an offer to give her the words to make it right for youngsters. Believing that her readers would look up unknown words or find other ways of understanding them, she refused to dumb the book down. “You need to stretch children, not to squeeze them.”

However, she believes that there are some ways in which children should not be stretched. It bothers her that today concepts such as adultery are presented at increasingly young ages. Her stories such as “Wigglesworth, The Caterpillar Who Wanted to Fly” which she is seeking to have reprinted, counter trends toward too-gritty realism.

Noyes, who now lives in Sorrento year round, is working on several other books. In this day, when so much available in mass media is nothing less than an assault on innocence, we need more authors like Beppie Noyes who know the importance of protecting that fragile and enchanting stage of life known as childhood.