The Slum Cat 
Next day the cook ‘left’ through some trouble 
over this very bundle. It was the cutting of 
cables, and that evening the youngest boy of 
the house, a horrid little American with no 
proper appreciation of royalty, was tying a tin 
to the blue-blooded one’s tail, doubtless in fur- 
therance of some altruistic project, when Pussy 
resented the liberty with a paw that wore five 
big fish-hooks for the occasion. The howl of 
downtrodden America roused America’s mo- 
ther. The deft and womanly blow that she 
aimed with her book was miraculously avoided, 
and Pussy took flight, up-stairs, of course. A 
hunted Rat runs down-stairs, a hunted Dog 
goes on the level, a hunted Cat runs up. She 
hid in the garret, baffled discovery, and waited 
till night came. Then, gliding down-stairs, she 
tried each screen-door in turn, till she found one 
unlatched, and escaped into the black August 
night. Pitch-black to man’s eyes, it was sim- 
ply gray to her, and she glided through the dis- 
gusting shrubbery and flower-beds, took a final 
nip at that one little bush that had been an at- 
tractive spot in the garden, and boldly took her 
back track of the spring. 
