"Well, what happened then?" asked the black kitten, catching its mother's eye.
"Sitting up, and beginning to wash the kitten's face very hard indeed."
"Well, one day the little girl put me into a basket, and carried me out. I was always a fine figure of a cat, and I must have been a good weight to carry. Several times she opened the basket to kiss and stroke me. The last time she did it we were in a room where a sick girl lay on a bed.
"'I did not know what to bring you for your birthday,' said my little girl, 'so I've brought you my dear pussy.'
"The sick girl's eyes sparkled with delight. She took me in her arms and stroked me. And though I do not like sick people, I felt flattered and pleased. But I only stayed a very little time with her."
"Why?" asked all the kittens at once.
"Because——but no; that story's too sad for you children; I will tell it you when you're older."
"But that only makes eight lives," said Sweep, who had been counting on his claws, "and you said you had nine. Which was the ninth?"
"Why, this, you silly child," said the brindled pussy, sitting up, and beginning to wash the kitten's face very hard indeed. "And as it's my last life, I must be very careful of it. That's why I'm so particular about what I eat and drink, and why I make a point of sleeping so many hours a-day. But it's your first life, Snowball, and I can't have you wasting it all in sleep. Go and catch a mouse at once."