“I guess I’ll try crying now,” thought Blackie. “Some one may hear me out in the street.”
Blackie did not mean that she was going to “cry” real tears, but that she was going to mew. Some folks call that crying for a cat.
“Yes, that’s what I’ll do,” said Blackie to herself. “I’ll get up on the window sill, and mew as loudly as I can.”
Up jumped Blackie to the sill of the window and, looking out in the street, she opened her mouth and let out a loud:
“Mew!”
“They ought to hear that,” thought the black cat. But no one seemed to hear her. She could see people passing along the street, boys and girls being among them, for school was now out. But though once in a while some one did look at the cat in the window, no one came to let Blackie out.
“Oh, if only Arthur or Mabel would pass along the street on their way from school, they might let me out,” thought Blackie. “I wonder if this is the street by which they come home?”
This was something Blackie could not tell, smart as she was. She could only hope, and call, which last she did every minute or two.
But every one on the street seemed to be in a great hurry. Men and women walked quickly past, with only a glance, now and then, at the black cat in the window. Perhaps they did not stop to think that it was strange for a cat to be alone in an empty house. Perhaps the people did not even stop to think that the house was empty. And they might have thought that if Blackie got in the house she could also get out.
But she could not, as we know, for every door and window was tightly fastened. And another thing was that only the man who owned the house had a key to it. So if any one did try to let Blackie out how could they do it? Blackie did not know all this though. She just knew that she wanted to be let out, and so she kept on mewing.