A CATASTROPHE IN HIGH LIFE.
Tertius, as his name signifies, was the third Maltese cat to occupy a very warm place in the hearts of a certain pet-loving family that lived on a quiet, tree-shaded street in a beautiful Eastern city.
His predecessors were both noted for their wonderful sagacity and great achievements, so he felt that he must improve all his opportunities if he was to keep up to their high standard. Just how they had obtained their reputation he did not know, and perhaps it was this ignorance that caused him to make his fatal mistake.
The beautiful house in which he lived had a large veranda on one side, over which ran a grapevine, and in this grapevine a pair of robins, most unwisely, decided to build their nest.
“It is a very beautiful spot,” said Mrs. Robin.
“Yes, and that arrangement in the center there will be splendid to lay the foundation on,” replied Mr. Robin.
“It is so picturesque,” returned Mrs. R., in a rapture of delight.
“And there will be such a nice shade for you, my dear, when the leaves are out,” added the thoughtful husband.
“It is a much finer situation than Mr. and Mrs. English Sparrow have for their nest in the eaves up above. Don’t you think so, Rob?”
“Indeed I do, wifey; but we must to work, for the morning is advancing. Now, you stay here, while I fly off and get the material.”
In a very few days as pretty a little nest was in the spot selected as you would want to see. Mr. Robin had brought all the material, while his helpful little wife had constructed the nest.
All this time their movements had been watched by the large, admiring, but greedy eyes of the ambitious Tertius, and one morning the chance he had so patiently waited for came. Mr. Robin started out, thinking in his kind little heart that he would get “little wifey” a particularly large and tasty worm for her breakfast, and he was so intent in scratching in the newly turned garden for it that he did not see the slyly, softly creeping Tertius. One bound, and poor little Rob was caught. He screamed, he scolded, but all to no purpose. Now was Tertius proud. He would carry his prize to his mistress, and she would surely say that his skill and prowess was far beyond that of either of his illustrious ancestors. So, thinking, with arched back and curling tail, he hastily gained the house and at once carried his prize to his mistress’ room. But alas for his well-laid plans! Alas for the praise he had looked for! Instead, to his intense surprise and anger, he was greeted with a cry of pain and alarm. The mistress who should have praised rated him well, the hand that should have stroked his smooth coat wrenched his prize from him. In his anger he tried to scratch her in return, but she had been too quick for him, and Robin was saved. Tenderly he was laid in a bed of cotton and placed on an upper veranda, once more in the sweet, balmy air. Cautiously he lifted his head, and as no shining green eyes or sharp paw were to be seen, ventured to hop to the edge of the basket in which his kind preserver had placed him. One more look around and he stretched out his wings and soared away.
“Oh, my dear Rob! I heard your cry. Where have you been? Do tell me all about it!” exclaimed Mrs. Robin on Mr. Robin’s return, and he, in a most graphic manner, granted her request; but, as we already know all about it, we won’t stay to listen.
As to Tertius, he has decided that to win his way to fame he must confine himself in the future to a war on mice.
M. Leila Dawson.
DOMESTIC CAT.
(Felis domestica.)