Mona stretched out her thick neck, and sniffed at me. “You foolish cat, are you going through the street with that bait in your mouth? Something will catch you.”
“Nothing will,” I said in a voice muffled by the mutton, and I went on toward the Common.
Mona followed me slowly. What was I to do? I turned, and instead of going right on the Common, went deliberately down Beacon Street toward Charles Street.
We must have looked rather ridiculous. I can't help laughing when I think of it. I—a small-sized cat—walking solemnly along the middle of the street, holding the piece of meat, and the huge dog stepping carefully after me.
When we got to Charles Street, I turned to the right. Then I suddenly sprang back, flew to the Common, and ran up the hill again.
I am a pretty swift runner, but that dreadful dog kept me in sight, and at last I stopped. I did not dare to go near the cat with this big creature in tow.
Opposite the house we both sat down on the gravel walk of the Common, and stared at each other. Mona was panting heavily. Her fur is so long and thick that she gets hot in a flash.
“You're up to some mischief,” she said crossly. “Cats are sly anyway.”
I laid the piece of mutton between my paws. “Cats are not sly. They are hunted and chased, and have to act sly—but in reality they are as open and honest as dogs.”
“Very well,” she said sarcastically, “it's a matter of opinion.”