“I got talking to one of them in an adjoining berth to my own after it was dark.
“‘I suppose,’ I said innocently, ‘I shall soon be taken to a real home?’
“‘A real home!’ said the silver tabby I had addressed. ‘Well, you may, but I very much doubt it. Why, some of us have been in this dismal prison for three long years, and may be for years and years again, unless we have the luck to die or to get sold, for escape seems impossible. We are kept for breeding.’
“‘You are well fed, I suppose?’
“‘Well fed? Ah! you’ll soon know how we are fed. Why, we never get a change of any kind; it is milk and bread, milk and bread and half-putrid lumps of horse-flesh from one month’s end to another, and never a blade of grass to cool our blood and to refresh us. And we only have one little run in the backyard yonder once a day, when mistress happens not to be busy elsewhere.’
“‘Yet, nevertheless,’ continued my informant, ‘mistress is supposed to be a celebrated breeder, and sometimes a lady arrives at the door of her cottage and is shown into a nicely-furnished room. She has come most likely to buy a cat or kitten. We are all kept groomed and ready always, and not having any exercise, we are moderately plump and fat. Well, soon after the carriage stops, mistress herself, better dressed than usual, hurries in and picks up one of us, and takes a brush and comb and goes rapidly over the coat. Then she enters the best room, petting and hugging the poor pussy. Ah! well does the cat know that it is all false affection; but she sings and looks pleasant, the prospect of leaving this vile den making her happy and hopeful for a time.’
“‘And then,’ I said, ‘when a pussy is sold she is taken away in the carriage to some pretty and refined home, where she will be well cared for, and have good food and toys, and maybe beautiful children to play with, and—’
“‘Like a dream her life will pass away!’”
“‘Ah!’ sighed the silver tabby, ‘would it were so. But it is far often the reverse.’
“‘Indeed!’