Mew I.
The Birth of Blinks.
The entrance into the world, of the immortal hero of the following adventures, is veiled in the darkest and most inky obscurity. Whence he came, or where he had resided previous to his arrival, no one can tell. All that is positively known about the matter is this: I, the writer, retired to rest about ten by the clock on a cold and sleety night in winter. Previous to jumping into bed, I, as usual, locked, barred, and bolted the door of my room, then, candle in hand, I peeped in below the bed, keeked into the cupboard and under the toilet-table, and even cast an eye up the chimney, in order to be certain there were no robbers or midnight assassins concealed in the premises. Being satisfied that the only occupants of the room besides myself were Nero, Muffie, and Pretty Dick, I extinguished the candle and crept quietly beneath the sheets. Now at that time there was no Blinks. Well, in the morning, like a good old boy, I awoke at seven; and after rubbing my eyes and untying my flannel night-cap, I put my hand once more below the bed-clothes, for I could distinctly feel something moving on my breast. I seized and hauled this something forth to the blessed light of day, and lo! and behold!—Blinks—blind little Blinks!
“Good heavens!” cried I in astonishment, for the windows were fastened, the door still closed, and the key-hole not unreasonably large, “where in the name of all creation did you come from?” And Blinks replied in a whisper; but I could not catch what he said.
Now, from some concomitant circumstances—namely, the birth of five kittens on the evening of the same eventful day—all of whom were consigned to a watery grave next morning, as soon as they had taken breakfast—I say from these circumstances, I think there can be little doubt but that Blinks is the son of my beloved cat and faithful servant Muffie; and that the name of his other parent is, and must ever remain, a mystery. Blinks was a lovely kitten, and is a lovelier cat. Of the brightest and most varied tortoise-shell, with stately limbs and bushy curling tail, he stalks abroad, a very prince among the feline tribes. His paws are white as mountain snow; and when he presents one to a human friend, it feels as soft as the finest velvet. But woe be to the mouse, or rat, or rabbit, on whom those paws descend, for sharp and deadly are the daggers hidden between those silken toes. His ears are long, his brow is broad, and his eyes beam with intelligence; love seems to float in their liquid depths as he purrs to some fair young lady cat, but fires of hate and scorn flash from them as he gazes on a feline foe. Such is Blinks.