CHAPTER V
THE CAT ON THE COMMON
For some nights I have been so tired that the instant I jumped up on my opera cloak I went right to sleep. No time for thought, no time for a little cat to review the events of her day, and wonder whether she had done right or wrong, and whether she had made a simpleton of herself, or whether she had been very wise.
However, there is no need for me to indulge in wonderment. I am a foolish, light-hearted, selfish, mischievous kitten. I have always heard that from my birth, from dear Serena, and I know it without her telling me. My mother has always praised me, but I see through her. She is so good that she wants to make me good too, and when I hear my mother praising any one, cat, dog, or human being, it always makes me suspicious of that creature. The less it deserves praise, the more she gives it. However, I must not dwell on my badness. I do not imagine it has a good effect upon me. I will think over the one really kind thing that I believe I have done in the course of my short life. Perhaps I did not do it in the best way—however, I did it, and to my great joy I sit here dozing and dreaming, and occasionally opening my eyes to look at that Common cat, who, at the present moment, is under Mary's bed, sound asleep.
Yes, I got her here, but it was hard work. How care pulls one down. I declare, I have been just worn out with anxiety and secrecy. I hate to do things slyly. Now for days I have had to manœuvre. First to hide some of my food, then to get it out to the cat.
The night after my first interview with her, all went well. I secured a lovely piece of Porterhouse steak. I carried it down-stairs, I hid with it behind the curtain. There were a good many rings at the bell that night, and I had no trouble in getting out, and no trouble in getting in. The Common cat was in her place behind the bench with her eyes shining like hungry stars.
She tore at the food, and I watched her with my own mouth watering in sympathy. When she had finished, she licked her lips and washed her face, and muttered enjoyably, “That's the stuff!”
It gave me a warm feeling round my heart to see her so satisfied, and bidding her to be in the same place the next night I ran home.
The next night I had a dreadful time, a horrible time. It was raining cats and dogs, as the saying is, only I never saw them. There were very few rings at the bell, but at last one came after I had been crouching for half an hour under the thick curtain before the door of the reception-room.
As I slipped out the front door carrying a tea biscuit in my mouth, which was the only thing I had been able to hide that day, I could hear my dear young mistress calling me to come to bed. That was enough to make me nervous, and then I kept dropping the biscuit, and it got soggy in the rain, and by the time I got to the poor cat, I was, to tell the truth, just a little bit out of temper.
“There, you see,” I said, almost throwing the biscuit at her, “I haven't anything nice for you. Whereas if you would come in the house, and throw yourself on the mercy of my young mistress, I assure you that she would find a good home for you.”