'Why, put on a high chair and said prayers to. That's praised. The man and Auntie May were talking about them and saying that they were an ugly breed of cats to be set above all the others—why, Kitty, you're asleep! You are rude!'
'No, I'm not,' said Kitty. 'I am only pretending.'
'Nonsense! You sound all bunged up with sleep,' said Rosamond, in a queer smothery tone. 'This is my bed and I want it myself. Hoof her out, Amerye.'
'I'll go of my own self,' said Kitty, 'because you're both getting dull. Good-night, you un-lovers.'
She slipped out and went back to her crib.
'I am rather tired, I see,' she said as she climbed in, dragging her legs after her. (I was too tired myself to go after them.) 'I'm a bit good-for-nothing, like mother. Good-night.'
Rosamond and Amerye had a fight as to which of them should have me, but I settled that by slipping away and finding a nice high undraughty place on the chiffonnier. They always absurdly imagine we want a bed. As it was quite dark, and they weren't allowed matches, Rosamond and Amerye gave up all hope of finding me, and went to sleep, and snored, a sound which is more like our purring than anything else I ever heard.