"Stingaree, Stangaree,
Whollop and Whim,
Mizzle and Muzzle,
Luckety, Limb,
Niddle and Noddle
And Puzzlecat too,
Roly and Poly,
I need all of you."
As each name was called, out ran a great black hump-backed cat-o'-nine-tails, and by the time she was done the thirteen of them were standing in front of her, their 117 tails swishing back and forth with a noise like a hurricane. "Run and catch that boy for me," said she, pointing to Billy. And off they scampered.
"What a wind is coming up," said Billy to himself when he heard the cats behind him.
"Meow-w-w—"
And turning round he saw the great cats bounding after him.
"They're after me—I'm sure," he said to himself, "but I can jump."
Alas for Billy, he was standing under a ladder when he spoke, and when he jumped "bump" he hit his head on the topmost rung.
Quick as a flash he reached out his hand and caught the ladder—and there he hung, dangling in mid air with thirteen great cats meowing and spitting and yowling on the ground just out of reach of his feet.
"This won't do—they will climb the ladder in a moment. The wishing bottle: maybe I can blind them with the dye." Holding on tight with one hand, he fished the bottle out of his pocket. "If I only had something to turn them into white cats," he said, staring at the bottle, "maybe they would become harmless."
And just at that minute a thought struck him so hard that it almost knocked loose his hold on the ladder.