“Good night!” she said to Mrs. Thompson. “I shall come over often to see your new cat. I hope you can keep her, and that no one comes to take her away.”
“So do I, though of course I would give her to whoever owned her. If I had a nice cat I wouldn’t want any one to keep her from me,” Mrs. Thompson said.
“No, I wouldn’t either. Well, good night. Oh, when do you go to the country?”
“In a few days now, I think.”
“And will you take Blackie with you?”
“I will if no one comes for her before I go.”
Then the two ladies said good night again (ladies always say it three or four times, somehow or other) and then Mrs. Thompson locked the front door.
“It will soon be time to go to bed, Blackie,” said the lady. “I will get out the cushion my white cat used to sleep on, and you can use that.”
Blackie wondered what had become of the white cat who used to live with the kind old lady. Mrs. Thompson brought out the other cat’s cushion. It was nice and soft, and Blackie liked it.
In the morning Blackie, who had slept well, was given a good breakfast of milk and oatmeal. Mrs. Thompson seemed to know just what cats like.