Miss Eleanor, when it was pleasant, would take me up through a boxed-up stairway to the top of the house, where I could run a long time. It was very large, for the building covered a great space, and was gravelled over like the street. A very high wall surrounded it, so there was no chance to run away.
One night I could not sleep. I was possessed to go out. The window of our bedroom was open, and I got out into the gutter and walked along. It ran around the building and was very narrow, and I half drew back. Then I said, "Courage!" and went on till I reached the corner where the pointed tower cut me off. Then I realized my situation. I could not turn around in this narrow space, and I closed my eyes in horror. I dared not look below, the distance was so great. Above, the beautiful stars seemed to look down on me and my wickedness.
How sorry I was! No one could see me, a little gray speck, way up so high. I remained there till the morning light gave me a little courage. I tried to think of good things, and I remembered about the little sparrows that God cared for, and I trusted he would not let me "fall to the ground" for my dear mistress's sake.
She had suffered so much I did not want her to have the pain of losing me. So I just shut my eyes and turned very slowly and painfully, with many slips and strains; but my face at last was turned homeward. Then I cowered down with real vertigo. I could not take one step; but soon I braced up and crawled along till I reached the bedroom window, where I was safe.
The delight of my friends may be imagined. They had hunted everywhere for me, and Miss Milly had had almost a nervous fit, for she said: "He has fallen down and has been dashed to pieces by this time." They did not go to bed, and were waiting for the morning light to search the building.
Of course I was very much ashamed, though it proved how much they loved me. I promised myself I would never try them again; and I was frightened when I realized what a narrow escape I had had.
Then I enjoyed my good breakfast, washed myself thoroughly, and getting into my nice basket, slept all day.
But there are moments now when the horror of my situation overpowers me, and I always hear with pity about the men who mount the high buildings and church steeples. And I never, though I am a patriotic cat, desire to go to the top of Bunker Hill Monument. The picture of it satisfies me. It makes my head spin, and I have vertigo of the mind; just to think of it makes me lose my head. For a cat to lose his head is a serious matter. We might spare a piece of tail, but we need every bit of the head.
That reminds me of a cat of Miss Eleanor that really lost half of its tail. Her name was "Persimmon."
The family all laughed at Miss Eleanor for her romantic idea, and very soon the name degenerated into "Sim"—a much more appropriate one for the wild and homely creature who answered to it. She was one of Miss Eleanor's many pensioners. Somehow the mean-looking and abused always were those she selected for pets.