Of course, I walked across the table, and looked into the jug; there was milk in it.
It was a sensible, wide-mouthed jug, and I should have been quite able to make a comfortable breakfast, if some clumsy, careless servant hadn't rushed into the room, crying "Shoo! scat!"
This startled me, of course. I am very sensitive. I started, the jug went over, and the milk ran on to the cloth, and down on the new carpet. You will hardly believe it, but that servant, to conceal her own carelessness, beat me with a feather brush, and threw me out of the back door; and cook, who was always a heartless person, though stout, gave me no dinner. Ah! if my fishmonger had only known that I never tasted his beautiful present, after all!
But though I admired him so much, I could not talk to him. I never, from a kitten, could speak any foreign language fluently. So he never knew.
My next misadventure was on an afternoon when the family expected company, and the best china was set out. Why "best"? Why should a saucer, all blue and gold and red, with a crown on the back, be better than a white one with mauve blobs on it? I never could see. Milk tastes equally well from both.
"Seeing the tea set out, I got on the table."
I went into the drawing-room before the guests arrived—just to be sure that everything was as I could wish—and, seeing the tea set out, I got on the table, as usual, to see whether there was anything in the saucers. There was not, but in the best milk-jug there was—CREAM!
The neck of the best milk-jug was narrow. I could not get my head in, so I turned it over with my paw. It fell with a crash, and I paused a moment—these little shocks always upset me. All was still—I began to lap. Oh! that cream! I shall never forget it!
Then came a rush, and the fatal cry of "Shoo! scat!"—always presaging disaster. I saw the door open, and, by an instinct I cannot explain, I leaped from the table. In my hurry, my foot caught in the handle of the silver tray. We fell together—neither the tray nor I was hurt—but the best china!!!