To this touching appeal the cat said “Mew,” faintly.
“Ah! that’s right. You’re a jolly old rascal. Why did you not speak at once? eh?” and Peterkin put forward his mouth and kissed the cat on the nose!
“Yes,” continued Peterkin, after a pause, “I love you. D’you think I’d say so if I didn’t, you black villain? I love you because I’ve got to take care of you, and to look after you, and to think about you, and to see that you don’t die—”
“Mew, me-a-w!” said the cat.
“Very good,” continued Peterkin, “quite true, I have no doubt; but you’ve no right to interrupt me, sir. Hold your tongue till I have done speaking. Moreover, cat, I love you because you came to me the first time you ever saw me, and didn’t seem to be afraid, and appeared to be fond of me, though you didn’t know that I wasn’t going to kill you. Now, that was brave, that was bold, and very jolly, old boy, and I love you for it—I do!”
Again there was a pause of a few minutes, during which the cat looked placid, and Peterkin dropped his eyes upon its toes as if in contemplation. Suddenly he looked up.
“Well, cat, what are you thinking about now? won’t speak? eh? Now, tell me; don’t you think it’s a monstrous shame that these two scoundrels, Jack and Ralph, should keep us waiting for our supper so long?”
Here the cat arose, put up its back and stretched itself; yawned slightly, and licked the point of Peterkin’s nose!
“Just so, old boy, you’re a clever fellow,—I really do believe the brute understands me!” said Peterkin, while a broad grin overspread his face, as he drew back and surveyed the cat.
At this point Jack burst into a loud fit of laughter. The cat uttered an angry fuff and fled, while Peterkin sprang up and exclaimed,—