The Book of the Cat

The Book of the Cat, by Mabel
Humphrey and

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Humphrey and Elizabeth Fearne Bonsall, Illustrated by Elizabeth
Fearne Bonsall
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Title: The Book of the Cat
Author: Mabel Humphrey and Elizabeth Fearne Bonsall

Release Date: July 10, 2007 [eBook #22043]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
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THE BOOK OF THE CAT
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
With Facsimiles of Drawings in Colour by
ELISABETH F. BONSALL
And with Stories and Verses Written for the Pictures by
MABEL HUMPHREY

New York Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers Copyright, 1903,
by Frederick A. Stokes Company. Published in October, 1903.
[Illustration]

Snowball and Ebony.
Down at my feet on the red tiles in front of a roaring great fire sit a
great black cat and a soft white Angora pussy. They are named Ebony
and Snowball and are as different in nature as they are in colour, but are
devoted friends for all that. Possibly because of it! for where Snowball
is timid, Ebony will bravely lead the way; while if Ebony is cross,
Snowball will purr and coax and cuddle until he gradually grows
peaceful and pleasant again.
From the time he was a tiny kitten Ebony had known no home, and
such food as he had was picked up when and wherever he chanced to
find it. He had won many and lost few of his many cat battles, but he
did not like to fight and never did it unless obliged to.
Snowball had never struck or received a blow in all of her carefully
guarded life. She was a finely bred Angora that had taken many prizes
at the cat shows, while her meals--far from being irregularly picked
up--had always been brought to her on a silver tray as regularly as the
sun rose--and considerably oftener!
One bright cold November afternoon Snowball was wandering
restlessly around looking for something--anything--some excitement!
As she passed the Dresden saucer filled with rich cream she sniffed,
and when she caught sight of her silk-cushioned basket she fairly
switched her tail. Even the favourite spot on the warm hearth failed to
allure.
Outside the wind blew the few remaining leaves from the trees in
tempting swirls to the pavement, but she could not play with them. She
was shut indoors for fear she might be stolen or stray! Stray! She would
run away as soon as she found the chance!
As she wandered into the broad hall some one opened the front door to
pass through it, and Miss Pussy saw and seized her chance. Like a flash
she darted down the steps and up the street, never stopping until she

was well out of sight of the house. Then she paused and looked
curiously around.
Close under the railing of a shabby area, not many blocks from
Snowball's home, she spied three rough-coated, gaunt cats greedily
drinking from a dish of sooty skim milk. The saucer was thick and
cracked, and--worse yet!--had not been washed since it contained
boiled onions, but to the pampered runaway it seemed far more
desirable than the cream she had left untasted in her own Dresden china
plate.
As she edged slowly toward them the three waifs paid no attention to
her, beyond giving a warning growl or two, which Snowball--not
understanding that she could be unwelcome--mistook for their usual
way of speaking. With a friendly "P-r-r-r-rh!" of greeting she drew near,
and lapped daintily at the strongly flavoured milk. Was it hunger, or the
feeling of liberty and comradeship that made it taste so good and made
her for one short instant perfectly happy?
Then a stinging blow on one ear, followed immediately by a sharp slap
on the side of her head from the big grey cat, sent her reeling dizzily
away from the dish. She recovered herself and turned in abject terror,
her one thought to escape