In addition to this, it turned out that one of Mrs. Winslow’s eyes was green and the other blue, while both of Weejums’ were hopelessly alike. It also appeared that Mrs. Winslow had nerves, and could not eat her chop-bone in the dining-room with Weejums’ commonplace eyes upon her; so Weejums had to be banished to the kitchen. But she afterwards fought Mrs. Winslow in the pansy bed, and when Mrs. Winslow returned to the house, her blue eye was closed so tight that no one could possibly have guessed it was not green.
“They say that’s a bright cat,” said Kenneth, scornfully, “but the other day after she’d eaten a mouse, she went around calling it to come back, just as if ’t was a kitten.”
“They all sit in a row and admire her, while she scratches her ribbon,” said Franklin. “They like to watch the bow go round under her chin, and up behind the other ear.”
“Then they say, ‛Oh, isn’t it cunning!’” said Eunice.
“Children, don’t laugh at the people in the house. We’ll see lots of beautiful pussies at the Cat Show to-morrow, so you can afford to stop insulting Mrs. Winslow.”
But that very afternoon came another mortification for Weejums, and a triumph for the enemy.
It happened that Mrs. Wood’s room was supposed to be heated in winter from the room below, and one day when the register was taken out to be mended, she had folded a shawl across the hole; because, as the hole looked straight down into the room of the queerest of the old ladies, it would naturally be very hard for Eunice and Kenneth to keep from trying to see what the old lady was doing.
But she had reckoned without Weejums, who thought of course that the nice warm shawl was placed there for her to lie on, and, as Fate would have it, chose a time when the old lady was sitting directly under the hole.
Shrieks of terror from below sent everybody rushing to the old lady’s room, and as her door opened, Weejums shot out with a swelling tail, and her enraged victim in pursuit.