8:40.
Down into the kitchen again. Sit by the fire, and pretend I don’t know what treacle is like. But that vile cat is there, and I believe she guesses—keeps looking round at me with her hateful superior look. Dash her, what right has she got to give herself such airs? She’s not half my size, and pays no taxes. Dash her smugness. Dash her altogether. The sight of her maddens me—and, when her back is turned, I rush at her, and bite her. The crafty coward wags her tail, pretending she likes it, so I do it again, and then she rounds on me, and scratches my paw viciously, drawing blood, and making me howl with pain. This brings Miss Brown down in a hurry. She kisses me, tells the cat she is a naughty cat (I’d have killed her for it), gives me some sugar, and wraps the paw up in a bread-poultice. Lord, how that girl loves me!
9:0.
Ate the bread-poultice.
9:15.
Begin to get sleepy.
9:15 to 10:0.
Dozed.