“Then why don’t you catch him yourself? If you know so much better than anybody else, I should think it would be easy enough,” retorted the house-cat angrily.
“I intend to catch him,” replied the barn-cat; “he’ll soon be starved out and have to leave his hole.”
“And I intend to catch him too,” said the house-cat.
“Between you both you’ll lose him,” said the sparrow to himself, who, perched on a pear-tree, had overheard the conversation.
Meanwhile Graywhisker grew more and more hungry. He searched his house over and over again, hoping that he might have overlooked a crust, but he could find nothing. Then his eyes fell on the barn-cat’s collar, and he gave the ugly grin that displayed the broken front tooth so unpleasantly. “If I can’t make you ornamental I can at least make you useful, my dear Mrs. Barn-cat,” he said. “Leather is not as much to my taste as pork or cheese or sugar, but it is better than nothing; so here goes!” and taking the pretty red collar between his forepaws, he bit out a large piece. “Not much flavor,” he continued; “but if you think of a nice bit of toasted cheese or a delicate piece of pork rind while it’s going down, it isn’t so bad.”
Soon nothing remained of the gay little collar that had been the barn-cat’s pride, but the plate on which to engrave the name and the padlock that used to tinkle so musically; but after the leather was eaten up, Graywhisker became desperate indeed!
“If I could get hold of one of those tiger-kittens, wouldn’t it be a treat?” he exclaimed, with a horrible grimace. “I will venture out, cost what it may. I don’t know as it would be any worse to be caught by the cats than to die here slowly by inches. Oh, if I could only get hold of one of those young rats or Mrs. Silverskin! I’d make them bring me something to eat,—they are so much lighter than I am they can slip along more easily.”
The barn-cat sat behind a post in the barn, where she could hear and see without being seen, and the house-cat was watching a hole outside with great perseverance.
“He can’t come out without one of us seeing him,” said the barn-cat to herself; “I am sure of that. One thing is certain; he can’t stand it much longer. He must venture out soon for food, and then—”
Yes, she was right; he was coming out at last,—that was his long gray nose looking out of his hole, and those his small sharp eyes. Hardly daring to breathe, the barn-cat watched every motion. He looked anxiously around in every direction, and then stole softly along. The barn-cat did not stir until he was directly opposite the post where she was concealed, and then gave a sudden spring, and her sharp claws were fastened in his back, and the old thief and plotter was a prisoner!