The Book of the Cat | Page 5

play.
Up! Off! They follow breathlessly, With fawn-like grace, the glowing leaves That dance in farewell whirls of glee.
The wind dies low; in dark'ning west The day's orb sets 'neath purpling clouds. At last the two cats pause, and rest.

Tabitha Tiger Reflects.
(Tabitha Tiger.) Bless my claws and whiskers! but this suspense is awful. Here I have been waiting for the last two hours behind this horrid-smelling cheese, and no sign of a mouse yet. And it's just the time for them, too.
I wonder why housekeepers expect us cats to keep the house free from mice when they're away for the summer. No self-respecting cat can eat mice morning, noon and night; and one would have to do so in order to rid the house of them. Why, I should turn into a squeaking cheese-eater, myself!
Strange place for Cook to leave cheese, strikes me--the kitchen table; but it should make a fine hunting ground. If I'd only seen it before, I needn't have wasted so much time in front of that hole up in the attic--and I caught only three and a half mice during the whole week.
I suppose some boastful cats would call it four, but a first-class mouser like myself doesn't have to stretch a tale (Tail! Good pun, that--Ha! Ha!) to keep up her reputation, and that little Spring mouse really had no more meat on than half a full-grown one.
Spring mice certainly are delicious if people only realized it--much sweeter and juicier than Spring Chickens, and tender! My Furry Ear-tips! It makes my mouth water to think of them! Their only drawback is their drawing back. The best of them will never come out far enough from the holes for
Gracious Cattails! What was that?
It is! There are his whiskers, now an eye--ear--Ah-h-h! Now he's coming! Yes, right over to this very table--I must keep still. Now down so: close behind the cheese. It's a good thing I'm not a big cat.
Well, I never! That was a close squeak--I got that tail under just in time! Pretty poor memory, I call it, to forget one's own tail. If that mouse had seen--
What! There's another, and half way over here. The first one must be close by the table leg, though I can't see him.
And still another just coming out of the hole! Claws and Whiskers! If my heart beats like this I'll never on this table be able to jump straight--never.
One more--four! Talk about your mouse hunting! Why my paws tremble so I shall have regular "mouse-ague" in a minute.
They're all making for the cheese; I can hear their claws scampering up the wood. One--two--three--where's the last? There's the fourth patter. I should get two, for they're close together and eating very intently.
Now for it!
Dear, dear! What a noise that front door does make. Master Harold's little voice, too--
Oh, my eyes and teeth! Why need they have come just now? Those mice heard it, too--they've stopped eating. Oh-h-h!
(Little boy bangs into kitchen and snatches Tabitha Tiger ecstatically from table. Mice scatter back to hole.)
(Tabitha Tiger) Mr-r-r--owh! Sf-f-ft! Sf-f-ft! (Scratch, scratch.)
(Little Boy) Boo-hoo-hoo! (Slap-slap. Boy runs away.)
(Tabitha Tiger) He spoiled the finest mouse-catch of the season, and I had to scratch him--a puss can't stand everything!
Gracious Cattails!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]

Dot's Beetles.
Since his fluffy kittenhood Dot has been afraid of beetles, grasshoppers, crickets and, in fact, any large insect. That is rather strange in a kitten, is it not? But he had one experience which I think excuses his timidity.
It was on a warm summer morning that he and his twin--no, let us say triplet--brother Dab (the three kittens were called Dot, Dab and Fluff, for they were too tiny to toddle around under heavier names, their mistress said) were lying sleepily in their favorite corner of the piazza. To make sure he was missing nothing that a kitten should not miss, Dot opened his drowsy eyes and looked around. Instantly the drowsy look vanished and was replaced by one of intense interest.
For lo! crawling toward their corner was a many-legged, shiny black thing with pinch-y, dangerous-looking horns! Dot did not altogether like its looks; but curiosity was strong, and, calling to Dab, he started for the intruder.
Keeping safely behind the more venturesome brother, Dab followed at a slow trot.
"See-e-e! It's alive!" mewed Dot excitedly. "Let's play with it."
"Mee-you try it first," squeaked Dab.
Dot cautiously extended a pink paw toward the beetle; it came steadily on, and the paw was hastily withdrawn. Meanwhile Dab, too, had lifted a paw to make a test of the small, awesome stranger, but thought better of it. How dare he venture when Dot would not?
As the kittens hesitated, a wasp that had been hovering near alighted on Dot's furry head and rested there for an instant. It would not have harmed him, had not the beetle become alarmed