The Domestic Cat Part 12

But I wonder why Briddy didn't say a word about that visit she had from the policeman. Much of a lover he is, anyhow. I could see him through the window, and he never opened his mouth but to put something into it.

His courtship was _so_ un-Byronic, for he sat and he sat, and he chewed and chewed, and glowered and glowered at Briddy, till I wondered she didn't spit in his face and turn him out. Ah, Briddy, you needn't shake the broom, what would you do without me?

But to resume my story. One night I was shut up in a room by accident, and no one heard me call, for I did call, and, in the morning, the room wasn't just as it ought to have been, and for this new offence I was condemned to die--taken away in a sack, and drowned.

Not dead? Bless you, no; it wasn't likely I was going to remain at the bottom of a mill-dam, in an old guano-bag. I was up again before you could say mouse, and had swam on sh.o.r.e as cool as you like. It was a beautiful day in early autumn, the fields were all ablaze with golden grain, and the berries beginning to turn red and black in the hedgerows.

I sat down on a sheaf of wheat and basked till dry in the warm sunshine. Then a young pheasant ran round the corner and cried, "Peet, peet, have you seen my mother anywhere?" I thought I never had tasted anything half so sweet in all my life. Then I felt a new Tom from top to toe. Go back and be a house-cat? No, perish the thought. And I never did.

I am now fifteen years of age, and as I look back to the days that are gone I cannot help exclaiming, "What a jolly life I've led." I've been a Bohemian, a robber, a brigand, and a thief. "It is a sin, p.u.s.s.y," you say; "why don't you reform?" "'Cause I won't," I answer. Had I been differently brought up, better treated, better fed, and better understood, I mightn't be what I am. I would then have been as honest and virtuous as one of good Mrs Peek's cats. She knows how to treat a cat, and it is only a pity she isn't an Egyptian, she might have married Cambyses.

Well, well, as I said before, I'm now fifteen years of age; I've seen many ups and downs in the world, but I suppose my day is wearing through, and I must soon be preparing for the happy hunting-fields on the other side of Jordan.

Now, madam, you know I'm only a cat, a common dunghill cat, and have only common dunghill notions, but here are my sentiments. Religion is a beautiful thing when brought to bear on everyday life, and not put off and on with your moire antique. But never you go away to church and forget to give p.u.s.s.y her breakfast.

And have your prayer-book in one hand if you like of a morning, but have a nice bit of fish or a saucer of milk for p.u.s.s.y in the other, and the beauty of the one hand will be reflected from the other, as the stars are mirrored in the ocean's wave.

The End.