The Book of the Cat | Page 3

jump out--"As if I wouldn't if I could!" thought the kitten--now crying piteously. After what seemed to Tabby an age, but was really less than five minutes, the groom, who had really been the innocent cause of all this trouble, sauntered in and put an end to it by lifting Calico tenderly out. Gently he dried the little trembling thing, and sat her down in her comfortable box once more, where Mrs. Cat at once cuddled down close beside her. Suddenly spying her sisters again, she made a fresh start only to be stopped by a well-directed slap from her mother's swift paw. "M'you, M'you!" snapped Mrs. Cat. "You just sit still for a while. I've had worry enough for one day, and I will not help you out again."
"I don't want you to," sniffed Calico, rubbing her still smarting nose thoughtfully.
Tabby sighed, as the kitten made yet another start for her sisters, but wisely let her go.
"Did you ever?" she groaned; "but then, kittens will be kittens!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]

A Feline Fantasy.
"Oh, Maria?" "Tom?" "'Ria!" "Tom!" "'R-r-ria!" The two voices grew fervent, rose higher-- Till their serenades sweet Interruption did meet From a bootjack that took a quick flyer.

A Night On.
"I've a very great longing for a sweet juicy robin; what do you say to catching one or two, you old moon-gazer?"
Whitey gave Mr. Twinkletoes Black a playful chuck under the chin, skipped gleefully across the moonlit roof and back, and sat down sociably by him, before that leisurely pussy turned his head to look scornfully at the youthful--I almost said "speaker," but as all of their conversation is in cat language perhaps "mewer" would be more exact.
"You foolish kitten! Who ever caught a robin in December?"
"My dear boy!"--Twinkletoes' tone made Whitey think he was anything but a dear boy--"When you've lived three years as I have (Whitey was just ten months old) you'll know December when you--er--feel it! It's apt to be cool, and snow--Ugh! Horrid stuff, it is; white--sticks to your feet you know; wet!--" The fussy Mr. Black shook a dainty paw at the very thought, while Whitey listened eagerly, so that the next time he would know how December felt.
"There's one nice thing about it," added Twinkletoes: "the nights are long, and one has time to sing--and sing! One could--"
"Why can't one, Twinky?" asked Whitey hopefully.
"Oh, we might try, but--er--well, bootjacks, you know, hair-brushes, old shoes!--but it's very good exercise, this dodging."
"You said singing," corrected Whitey, rather puzzled. He didn't "know," but never having sung on roofs it was new and sounded thrilling. "Come on," he urged; "let's!" They started in, and their voices rose into awful sleep-destroying discords: "R-r-r-i-ah--M-m-r-r-riee--Mer-r-r-row!" Louder and more banshee-like grew the noise till the expected missiles began to arrive.
Twinkletoes Black was an expert dodger and skipped gracefully from place to place, avoiding the brushes and bottles that dropped from the windows of the tall apartment house next door.
Whitey had retired, silent, after the first old slipper landed heavily on his tail; but he was admiring Mr. Black's prowess with his whole heart. Nevertheless he was glad when the excitement was over with the "song," and they settled down by the chimney once more. The crisp air made him hungry, and again his thoughts turned birdward.
"Let's get some sparrows then," he said, as if there had been no interruption since birds were spoken of. "The early bird, you know, and it will be 'early' if we sit up much later. I never saw an early bird myself, but I suppose there are such things. I prefer a morning nap after these nights on. Haven't much use for early birds, usually." (To hear Whitey talk one would have thought he spent every night singing to the moon--this was his first!)
"Not a bad idea, for a youngster," said Twinkletoes pleasantly.
The two edged a little nearer the warm bricks and waited, purring a bumble-y duet to pass the time. "Just look at that moon!" sighed Twinkletoes, still musically inclined. "Got whiskers or something, hasn't it?" asked Whitey staring curiously at the illuminated clock-face. Where he sat the moon was hidden by the chimney and invisible to him.
"And it's sitting down on the tower!"
Stretching his neck excitedly that he might better see what made it act so, he caught sight of the real moon and instantly subsided into the meekest pussy that ever roamed a roof. "I--I don't understand December moons very well," he apologized.
"So I see," Twinkletoes replied. "But how about your early birds? Hello! Your moon's whiskers say that it's after five o'clock, and that's not early for birds. Now that I think of it, I don't believe they get up till later--at least in December." Whitey was tired--this was the "last straw." "Early birds!" he snorted, "early fiddlesticks! after five o'clock--just shows how much a