The three little kittens put on their mittens,
And soon ate up the pie.
"Oh, mother dear, we greatly fear
That we have soiled our mittens."
While Puss was busy placing his boots before the kitchen stove the three little kittens seated themselves at the table.
"Why don't you take off your mittens?" Puss asked. "I guess you're so hungry you can't wait," he added with a laugh.
It took but a short time for his boots to dry, for there was a big, blazing fire in the stove.
"Don't you want something to eat?" asked Mrs. Cat, coming over to Puss. "You have very pretty boots," she continued, lifting up one and looking at it with much admiration.
"Yes, they are nice boots," said Puss, Junior. "They were made for my famous father, Puss in Boots. Mr. Solomon Grundy, who was born on a Monday, made them years ago for my father. And one day, it was only last week, when I stopped at his store, I saw a notice in his window that he had died on Saturday and was buried on Sunday, and that was the end of Solomon Grundy."
"Too bad," said Mrs. Cat.
"When I went into the store," continued Puss, "Mrs. Grundy took them down from a shelf and sold them to me. Then she went across the street to ask an old friend where my father lived, but she couldn't find out—her friend didn't know or couldn't remember—so here I am, still searching for my daddy."