Of late we have had two maltese cats in our kitchen, one old, the other young. The old cat has been jealous and cross with the young one, while the young cat has been kind and pleasant with her companion. One day the young cat, Friskie's namesake, sat and meowed piteously. We were present, and for a time did not notice her, for she is very demonstrative. What was our surprise to see her go to a low closet in the room and lie down, stretch her paws over her head, and by an effort pull open the door to release the old cat, who had accidentally been shut up in this closet.
The old cat is always very reticent, and would not ask to be let out. Her usual way of asking to have a door open is to tap upon it with her paw. She scarcely ever meows.
We might have enlarged upon these incidents, but have simply told facts.
Outovplace.
There's a very strange country called Outovplace,
(I've been there quite often, have you?)
Where the people can't find the things they want,
And hardly know what to do.
If a boy's in a hurry, and wants his cap,
Or a basin to wash his face,
He never can find that on its nail,
Or this in its proper place.
His shoe hides far away under the lounge;
His handkerchief's gone astray;
Oh! how can a boy get off to school,
If he's always bothered this way?
Oh! a very queer country is Outovplace—
(Did you say you had been there?)
Then you've seen, like me, a slate on the floor
And a book upon the stair.