He seizes Tiny by the mouth, fixes an eyetooth in his scruff and hurtles out of the willow with him. The little tot hangs limp and apparently lifeless in the jaw of his brutal sire; but, fortunately for him, the old cat is not hungry, and so is content with burying the kitten at the foot of the willow, by the side of the dead blackbird.
In justice to the criminal it must be stated that he has no conception of the enormity of his crime; only when he is on his way up the willow for the second time is he enlightened—and that in a most ruthless manner. Two rows of gimlet-pointed claws descend from nowhere and almost nail him to the bark.... Furious, he turns his visage ... and the next second all his old half-healed wounds are torn open again!
Grey Puss has surprised him—and recognizes him instantly. So it is he who comes wrecking her maternal happiness; yes, she thought as much! And like a vice she clings to his back, biting and scratching and tearing as he flees panic-stricken along the hedge.
Away, away, home, anywhere!
He is more afraid of Grey Puss’ mother-claws than of the raven’s beak or the blade of the reaping-machine; he has learnt to his cost that a she-cat knows not the word mercy when her swollen udders are carrying milk for her young.
He lacked a conscience, this big, piebald he-cat—and he respected nothing except his own skin! The egg of the lark, the chick of the partridge, the young of the hare, were each and all grist to his mill; he took everything he could find, catch, or steal.
On the rafter at home in the farmyard, where Grey Puss used to lie, he had been allowed free passage, until the very moment when some small bundles lay shivering on the hay in the corner. Then the fascination of his black face and shining coat seemed to vanish; she would not allow him to approach; he was not even admitted to the barn. If he just showed himself at the trap-door she would become seized with frenzy, spring up, and fly at him as if he were a dog! He had always to beat a hurried retreat!
Did she read his character; did she know that the feeling of paternal love was foreign to his nature? In any case, she took no risks; she never trusted him over the threshold....
THE RESCUE OF TINY
Grey Puss’ milk tasted sour for a whole day following the adventure; she was frightfully restless and upset. Several of the young ones had wounds and had to be licked. Time after time she ran her glance over the small, rolled-up patches of colour; greedily her eyes devoured each little furry coat; but it was with no trace of the sweetness of recollection or the joy of recognition.