138 GRIMALKIN THE CAT 
cook and her satellites. Hence, for many days his 
horizon was bounded by the four walls of the kitchen 
and the square of backyard, in the corner of which 
was the ashpit to feline ideas the Elysian Fields. 
The yard was enclosed by a high wall, and wooden 
doors shut it off from the outside world, so that 
at the time of which I write, Grimalkin had had 
but most fleeting glimpses of what lay beyond. 
In one place the wall was overhung by a laurel 
bush, and here the sparrows used to squabble 
and chatter all day long, except when now and then 
a sinuous black form stole along the coping and 
dropped into the yard. This was the farmyard 
mouser, Sir Charles, a worthy who, although he 
possessed a name befitting a Crusader, was never- 
theless a prowler, a poacher, and a buccaneer 
born and bred. One half of his time he spent in 
filching stray morsels from the kitchen and in 
dozing in the sun, while the rest of his days were 
passed Grimalkin did not know where. But Paddy 
Magragh, the earthstopper of Knockdane, could 
have told you how often he saw the glossy black 
form sneaking along the hedgerows, or ' lying up ' 
beside a rabbit burrow. 
About the time that Grimalkin's eyes intensified 
from their original pale kitten blue to the yellow 
of maturer cathood, it happened that Sir Charles 
