“Don’t chase me,” mewed the China Cat. “I am a toy, like yourself. I am not real, and I have had, oh, such a sad life.”
“Well, of course, if you are a toy I won’t chase you,” barked the Woolly Dog. “I didn’t know you were one of us. I thought you were a regular Cat. You look like one.”
“Yes, for a China Cat I am well made,” went on the other toy, as she snuggled down on the floor of the closet among the rubbers where the Woolly Dog had been placed by Susan. “It isn’t very nice in here, is it?” she went on.
“No,” agreed the Woolly Dog. “But Donald will take me out in the morning. And I rather like that rubbery smell—it reminds me of the Clown and the time I was in the store. But you spoke of a sad story—tell me about it. We are by ourselves now and can do as we please. How long have you been here?”
“Oh, I have been shut up in this closet over a week!” said the China Cat sadly. “And it has been so lonesome! Tell me—you belong to some little child, don’t you?”
“Yes,” answered the Woolly Dog. “To a little boy named Donald.”
“Well, I am a child’s pet, too,” mewed the Cat. “But I have been forgotten, I guess. The children here had a party, and I was one of the toys brought to it. Then the little child who owned me forgot me, and I was tossed into the closet with a pair of rubbers, into one of which I had fallen. I bounced from the rubber into the partly closed umbrella, and I’ve been here ever since.”
“Why didn’t you crawl out some night?” asked the Dog. “You could have scrambled up inside the umbrella by your claws, I should think.”
“I tried it,” said the China Cat. “But each time I got tangled in the ribs and stuck. It wasn’t until you came and gave the umbrella a shake that I could get out. I’m much obliged to you.”
“Oh, I’m glad I could help,” said the Dog. “But now tell me your sad story.”