‘Mind the cat has his chicken just the same as if I were at home.’
‘Yes! Signora Countessa, leave that to me,’ answered the woman; but the Countess was no sooner gone out than she said to the man-servant:
‘The cat has the chicken every day; suppose we have it to-day?’
The man said, ‘To be sure!’ and they ate the chicken themselves, giving the cat only the inside; but they threw the bones down in the usual corner, to make it appear as if he had eaten the whole chicken.
The cat said nothing, but looked on with great eyes, full of meaning.[2]
When the Countess came back that evening the cat, instead of going out to meet her as he always did, remained still in his place and said nothing.
‘What’s the matter with the cat? Hasn’t he had his chicken?’ asked the Countess, immediately.
‘Yes! Signora Countessa,’ answered the cameriera. ‘See, there are the bones on the floor, where he always leaves them.’
The Countessa could not deny the testimony of her eyes, so she said nothing more but went up to bed.
The cat followed her as he always did, for he slept on her bed; but he followed at a distance, without purring or rubbing himself against her. The Countess saw something was wrong, but she didn’t know what to make of it, and went to bed as usual.