And I declare, if Sir Christopher (my husband and ten-year-old Ted named him that very evening) didn't look at me and wink. Then he jumped down and followed, very dignified, very discreet.
I attempted to shoo him back. But he wouldn't shoo. He merely stopped and seemed to consider matters. Or serenely remained far enough off to "play safe."
Meanwhile, my youngest continued to reiterate: "Kitty—kitty—kitty! My 'ittle kitty!"
"No, Curlylocks," said I, "it isn't your little kitty. It is somebody's cat."
Which merely shows that I knew not whereof I spoke. Sir Christopher proceeded to teach me.
Of course, at first I thought his stay with us was merely a temporary matter; like some folk, he had decided to go on a visit and stay over night. But when Sir Christopher continued to tarry, I enquired, I looked about, I advertised—and I assured the children that some one, somewhere, must surely be mourning the loss of a precious pet; some one, sometime, would come to claim him.
But no one came.
Days slid away, weeks slipped into months, winter walked our way, and spring, and summer again. Sir Christopher C. had deliberately adopted us, for he made no move toward finding another abiding place. He was no longer Somebody's cat, he was our cat; for, indeed, is not possession nine points of the law?
Then one day when heat shimmered over the valley, when the dandelions had seeded and the thistles had bloomed, when the corn stood heavy and the cricket tuned his evening fiddle, when spots in the lawn turned brown, where the sprinkler missed, when the baby waked and fretted, and swearing, sweating men turned to the west and wondered what had held up the sea breeze—Sir Christopher missed his supper. He vanished as completely as if he had been kidnapped by the Air Patrol. Three weeks went by and we gave him up for lost, although the children still prowled about looking over strange premises, peeping through back gates, trailing down unaccustomed lanes and along Calapooia Creek, for "We might find him," they insisted. Truly, "Hope springs eternal."
"Perhaps, he has gone back where he came from," said Daddy. "Perhaps, he has grown tired of us."