Once there was a cat. She was a black and white and yellow cat and the boys on the street called her Spot. For she was a poor cat with no home but the street. When she wanted to sleep, she had to hunt for a dark empty cellar. When she wanted to eat, she had to hunt for a garbage can. So poor Spot was very thin and very unhappy. And much of the time she prowled and yowled and howled.
Now one day Spot was prowling along the fence in the alley. She wanted to find a home. She was saying to herself:
“Meow, meow!
I’ve no place to eat,
I’ve no place to sleep,
I’ve only the street!
Meow, meow, meow!”
Then suddenly she smelled something. Sniff! went her pink little nose. Spot knew it was smoke she smelled. The smoke came out of the chimney of a house. “Where there is smoke there is fire,” thought Spot, “and where there is fire, it is warm to lie.” So she jumped down from the fence and on her little padded feet ran softly to the door. There she saw an empty milk bottle. “Where there are milk bottles, there is milk,” thought Spot, “and where there is milk, it is good to drink.” So she slipped in through the door.
Inside was a warm, warm kitchen. Spot trotted softly to the front of the stove and there she curled up. She was very happy, so she closed her eyes and began to sing:
“Purrrr, purrrr,
Curling up warm
To a ball of fur,
I close my eyes
And purr and purr.
Purrrr, purrrr,
Purrrr, purrrr.”
Bang! went the kitchen door. Spot opened one sleepy eye. In front of her stood a cross, cross woman. The cross, cross woman scowled. She picked up poor Spot and threw her out of the door, screaming:
“Scat, scat!
You old street cat!
Scat, scat!
And never come back!”
With a bound Spot jumped back to the fence.