“Thank you,” I replied. “The tongue can dress things down much better than damp paws.”
Serena attended to my toilet beautifully. That was last night. Then we sallied forth for a moonlight walk. It was a beautiful night. There were a few other cats about, but we stepped into the bushes till they passed by. We saw a weasel down near the river, smelt a skunk, listened to the deep breathing of the young cattle and the horses sleeping out in the pasture, and saw with regret that the lovely white woolly sheep had broken into the meadow.
“We can't do anything about it,” said Serena. “The farmer will turn them out in the morning. Meantime they're having a fine feed of rich meadow grass, and they won't get whipped for it.”
“No, Farmer Gleason never whips anything,” I said. “I wish he owned all the dogs and cats and horses in the world.”
“What is that?” said Serena excitedly, as we came up the sloping road leading from the meadow to the barn.
I looked at the top of the carriage-house. There, perched on the ridge-pole where the pigeons loved to sit in the daytime, was a funny square-looking creature that never moved.
“Is it a bird?” I asked.
“I think from what I have heard,” said Serena, “that it is a big owl. Keep close to the fence, sister. If he sees our fur, he may seize us. Tabby says Joker was nearly caught once by a big owl. Oh!” and Serena gave a gasp.
With her native caution, as soon as she saw the owl, she had led me under the snake fence. Fortunately a few poles had fallen out and had made a rough shelter, under which we crept. I hadn't turned my eyes from the owl but for a second when I felt something strike the poles above us, and saw the flash of two balls of fire, which were eyes. Then I lay gasping with fright.
“He struck me,” moaned Serena—“what claws—they felt red hot.”