It was pure wickedness, for he did not care for it himself, but gave it to the poor alley cats to devour; for he patronized them and had many disreputable pensioners. All his master said, when told of Tom's wickedness, was, "Pay for it." And to Tom he would say, "If you go on this way, you bad boy, we shall end our days in the poorhouse."
Tom looked as if he did not care where we ended our days, if we took him with us. And he was very sure his master would never go without him.
Tom carried the old felt hat up into his den in the attic, and when any unusual noise was heard, his master would say, "Tom is rehearsing his play of 'Valerian, or The Old Felt Hat.'"
I thought the story of Cousin Robert very nice, and when I lie on the lounge, looking in the fire, I can see all these scenes, and I do enjoy it. Miss Eleanor says she thinks I have a great deal of imagination. I suppose it is something nice, so I guess I have. I don't feel a bit jealous, for Miss Milly was a child then, and Tom was not her special pet, as I am; for I know that I am the "very apple of her eye," as I have heard people say, and it sounds big because I don't know what it means.
Miss Milly said she would tell more about Tom some day, for the young lady was very much pleased with his story. She looked warm and happy, and drank lots of tea, and ate crackers and had a good time generally.
Some time after, a friend called who had known them from childhood and knew Tom. Such nice reminiscences I never heard before. When she noticed me, she began talking about cats, and I thought she would never stop.
They invited her to take tea, though they laughingly said, "We have no two dishes alike, and very humble fare."
She enjoyed it, however, though she had a lovely home, servants and carriages at her command. This little bit of Bohemianism, as they called it, was a delight to her. She made them promise to spend the day with her, saying, "You can bring Daisy, for I will send a carriage for you, and my Priggy will be delighted with him."
I was pleased with the invitation, but took a dislike to Priggy at once. Such a name! Just think of it! To be called Priggy, when there are beautiful flowers and places that cats can be named for. To call a poor creature Priggy was weakness personified. I was disgusted, and refused to believe in Priggy.
As we never went to see him, my mistress not being well enough to visit, I never had the chance to express my indignation to him. Perhaps it is just as well. Poor little fool! He may think Priggy is a lovely name.