Blackie walked slowly through the different rooms of the empty house. She thought perhaps she might find a window open, though when she had first looked she saw none.
“But there might be a pantry, or a cupboard, with an open window,” thought the black cat. “I might not have seen it at first.”
So she went carefully all over the first floor. Not a window was open. The man who owned the house had made sure all were closed, for he did not want the rain to come in during a storm. So there was no way Blackie could get out from the first floor.
Of course she might have jumped against a pane of glass and broken it, for she was a heavy cat. But if she did that she might cut herself.
“Well, if I can’t find a window open down here, I may find one open upstairs,” thought Blackie. “I guess it wouldn’t be too far to jump from there. Or I may be able to jump in a tree and climb down, if a tree is near enough to an open window.”
Blackie went upstairs and looked for an open window. But alas! there was none. True, the black cat did find a tree growing close to a window, but there was no way of getting out in it.
“Oh, dear!” thought poor Blackie. “I certainly am in a lot of trouble. I should never have gone in this house without knowing more about it. I suppose I should not have run away. But no, I must not say that. I want to become a good fence-jumper, and running away seems to be the only way to do it. I guess I’ll be all right. Some one may come and let me out.”
Blackie was not so frightened as another cat might have been who had not lived in both the country and the city. She knew how to think, and she remembered how she had once been shut in the barn before she was taken away from the farm.
That time Blackie had been locked up a whole day and a night, but finally some one heard her mewing and let her out. And oh! how hungry and thirsty she had been!