All we know about it is, that a moment after a direful scream was heard from the nursery window. “O mamma, mamma, do come here! Tip-Top’s fallen out of the nest, and the cat has got him!”
Away ran Pussy with foolish little Tip-Top in her mouth, and he squeaked dolefully when he felt her sharp teeth. Wicked Miss Pussy had no mind to eat him at once; she meant just as she said, to “play with him.” So she ran off to a private place among the currant-bushes, while all the little curly heads were scattered up and down looking for her.
Did you ever see a cat play with a bird or a mouse? She sets it down, and seems to go off and leave it; but the moment it makes the first movement to get away,—pounce! she springs on it, and shakes it in her mouth; and so she teases and tantalizes it, till she gets ready to kill and eat it. I can’t say why she does it, except that it is a cat’s nature; and it is a very bad nature for foolish young robins to get acquainted with.
“O, where is he? where is he? Do find my poor Tip-Top,” said Jamie, crying as loud as he could scream. “I’ll kill that horrid cat,—I’ll kill her!”
Mr. and Mrs. Robin, who had come home meantime, joined their plaintive chirping to the general confusion; and Mrs. Robin’s bright eyes soon discovered her poor little son, where Pussy was patting and rolling him from one paw to the other under the currant-bushes; and settling on the bush above, she called the little folks to the spot by her cries.
Jamie plunged under the bush, and caught the cat with luckless Tip-Top in her mouth; and, with one or two good thumps, he obliged her to let him go. Tip-Top was not dead, but in a sadly draggled and torn state. Some of his feathers were torn out, and one of his wings was broken, and hung down in a melancholy way.
“O, what shall we do for him? He will die. Poor Tip-Top!” said the children.
“Let’s put him back into the nest, children,” said mamma. “His mother will know best what to do with him.”