SHE had not really minded being an Alley Cat until the kittens came. But every one who has had children knows that one feels being poor much more keenly on their account, than on one’s own. And the strawless corner of a deserted shed did not seem a suitable bed for her mother’s grandchildren.
The Alley Cat took no pride in her own appearance. Indeed, it had been said when she was born that her mother, the blooded tortoise-shell of a beautiful home, had never produced such a terrible kitten. She would not have been allowed to live, if an accident had not deprived her mother of the others. And as she grew up even her own parent saw that she was homely.
It may be thought that homely cats have no feelings; but this is not the case, for homely cats, like plain people, are sensitive, and have even more feelings than others. So one day when some particularly unkind remark had been made about the brindled kitten with yellow sides, she left her home and ran away to become an alley cat.
She was sorry for this afterwards, of course, like every other kitten that runs away. But she would not go home, and slept all summer in empty boxes and under the barns of people who did not like cats. She visited garbage pails, and learned to dash off with the others when the maid opened the kitchen door. She learned to walk on her stomach when crossing the street, and by the time that winter came, she had cobwebs in her whiskers, and looked at everybody out of frightened green eyes.
She was naturally a good mouser, but when the weather grew cold, people shut up their barns, and every cat knows that the open-air mice who live around unused sheds are very poor eating. But she managed to get along until the kittens came, and then she became desperate enough to beg at back doors, and purr for a piece of meat. But some people cannot appreciate even the finest kind of a purr, and the Alley Cat’s purr was hoarse and miserable like herself.
“I once had a good soprano,” she told the friendly barn cat who brought her a second joint of rat. “But I’m out of voice now, being up so much daytimes with the kittens.”
There were only two kittens,—one ugly like herself, and the other the very image of that beautiful mother who had never loved her. But the Alley Cat remembered this, and made a point of loving the ugly kitten best.
It was soon after their eyes were opened that the coldest weather came, and the Alley Cat made her first acquaintance with The Back Yard.
She had visited other back yards in her time, but this was very different, because kind children played there,—the children of a mother who loved all helpless things. It is true that she did not particularly yearn after alley cats, and was glad when this one refused to be tamed, and brought into the house.
But she said, “You may put some milk and meat for her out on the coal box, Eunice. She probably knows who she is, even if we don’t!”