Comfortably stretched on her back with all four legs wide apart, she lies perfectly still, not moving a limb, not a hair. Presently the end-most tip of her tail begins very, very slowly to wriggle to and fro; then it falls with a firm little thump on the floor.
It is the signal for the game to begin!
Immediately the tiny, living colours surround the tail. And in turn, usually two at a time, they make their attempts.
The supple tail-end writhes and squirms at lightning speed over the floor, the kittens’ eyes following its twists and bends in fascinated silence. Suddenly it disappears from sight; there is a breathless pause ... then the furry tip slowly emerges from under the heap of leaves. They strike at it with their paws, rush at it, catch hold of it, and—if it unfortunately escapes—rush upon it again. They bite it, clutch it, shake it.... At last they have secured a firm grip. The tables are suddenly turned! Now it is the tail which grips and shakes and rocks them to and fro in the air; they are fighting with a real, live, reckless enemy of equal strength, and are permitted to experience the joy of victory.
No spitting or growling is heard; all takes place in dead silence—only the smacks of the tail and the bumps of the paws betray the presence of living beings. They are like shadows tumbling about....
The game goes on in half-hour spells—until exhaustion overtakes first one, then another, and sleep again sweeps them together into a lifeless heap.
Now Grey Puss gets up and makes for the entrance—it is her turn to play “catch mouse.”
THE FIRST MOUSE
Several weeks pass happily....
The corn round the burial-mound ripens, and all sorts of grasses compete to lengthen its luxuriant green covering. The stones on the top become more and more hidden from the field-path below.