Pussy, Philip's sixth domestic, had attained her majority; she had
never gone after snakes in her youth, and had always avoided bad
company. She did her duty in the house as a good mouser, and when
mice grew scarce she went hunting for game; she had a hole under the
eaves near the chimney, through which she could enter the hut at any
time of the night or day. While Philip was musing after tea on the
"Pons Asinorum" by the light of a tallow candle, Pussy was out
poaching for quail, and as soon as she caught one she brought it
home, dropped it on the floor, rubbed her side against Philip's
boot, and said, "I have brought a little game for breakfast." Then
Philip stroked her along the back, after which she lay down before
the fire, tucked in her paws and fell asleep, with a good conscience.
But many bush cats come to an unhappy and untimely end by giving way
to the vice of curiosity. When Dinah, the vain kitten, takes her
first walk abroad in spring time, she observes something smooth and
shiny gliding gently along. She pricks up her ears, and gazes at the
interesting stranger; then she goes a little nearer, softly lifting
first one paw and then another.
The stranger is more intelligent than Dinah. He says to himself, "I
know her sort well, the silly thing. Saw her ages ago in the Garden.
She wants mice and frogs and such things--takes the bread out of my
mouth.
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