The cats had just been punished for trying to catch the canary and were cross because of it.

On their way downstairs Topsy, without meaning to, brushed against Pan — properly named Great Panjandrum because of his superior manner — who promptly spat at her. As a return compliment, Topsy boxed his ears, then scuffled off to the living-room.

Pan stalked into the library and choosing, cat-like, the one spot he should have kept away from, curled up on a handsome book that was lying open on the table and forgot his troubles in sleep. For some time Topsy wandered aimlessly from room to room; then preferring Pan's society to no society at all — she did not feel kindly towards human beings since her late whipping — she leaped lightly onto the table and curled up near him. For fully half an hour she sat idly with half-closed eyes, while Pan slept on, a perfect picture of innocent slumber. Then his paws began to jerk excitedly; his mouth twitched; and the tip of his tail waved like a pennant in a stiff breeze. Topsy eyed him coldly.

"M'yow! m'yow-yow!'' he gasped; his paws slipped from the book to the table; and he awoke with a start.

“Pretty faces you've been making!" snapped Topsy. "And such talk — "

Pan seemed surprised; then he remembered that Topsy had had the worst of the Punishment and suddenly felt very forbearing. (He'd had a delightful "cat-nap," and we all know how refreshing those are!)

“I dreamed —" he began; then paused impressively for questions.

"Guess you did," sniffed Topsy. "You acted like it!"

Pan looked grieved but remembered — it was such a good nap he had! — that when cats have trouble they are apt to be "catty."

“Dreamed " — he went on calmly — "that I had that yellow squalling thing on the floor, and I was just going to put my paw on its soft feathers when I awoke:” He licked his chops dreamily at the thought.

"My!" sympathized Topsy, at last interested.

"Come to think of it, Tops, I'm hungry! And er — er — well, you know Mistress doesn't always feed us heartily after — um — well — after, you know."

Topsy bobbed the end of her tail understandingly, and Pan grew confidential. "I know where's a dish of cream! It's down —"

The rest of the sentence was whispered so low that I really couldn't tell you what it was; but Topsy understood, and the two hurried away as noiselessly and gracefully, — yes, and as dignifiedly as only cats can hurry.

The desired cream they found on a high shelf in the shed. They were supposed never to enter this place, so Cook had thought it a safe spot in which to set the cream.

A strong jump was needed to reach the shelf; but after several attempts they managed it and lapped, lapped, lapped to their full content.

As they sat blissfully purring after this unusual treat they heard a plaintive "Mew" from the ground close by, and peering down saw a strange cat that had evidently entered through the open window, as they had done. He looked hungry and wistful, while they had just had a delicious meal and were correspondingly pleasant.

"Mrr-ow! Come on up; it's good!" called Pan.

Possibly hunger made the leap easier for this new-comer than for the well-fed cats; possibly he was more agile than they for with one spring he landed by the saucer and dipping his head eagerly lapped long and fast before he once raised his eyes. When he finished the pink tongue was run out over his lips and whiskers, so that no delicious drop should escape, and he heaved a satisfied sigh.

"Do you — ah — always have such dinners as this?'' asked he.

Pan turned his head away and pretended to be interested in a black ant that was crawling rapidly up the wall below him; he was a truthful pussy and preferred to change the subject. The stranger was comfortable and sat lazily waiting for the answer.

At that moment Cook went for the cream and seeing the cats started angrily forward, shoo-ing and scat-ing with great vigour.

When after a wild exit the cats at last seated themselves up on a high fence they paused a moment to get their breath again, then the stranger smiled — he actually grinned!

"I should judge you don't always have such a dinner as that!" he spoke pleasantly, but Pan looked sheepish.

“By Whiskers!" he muttered, his mind's eye still seeing Cooks vulgar, flapping apron strings; “I should think not!"

"Thanks, just the same — more," said the visitor jumping down.

"Don't mention it," politely answered the host and hostess. "Come again!"

(Tabitha Tiger.) Bless my claws and whiskers! but this suspense is awful.

Here I have been waiting for the last two hours behind this horrid-smelling cheese and no sign of a mouse yet. And it's just the time for them, too.

I wonder why housekeepers expect us cats to keep the house free from mice when they're away for the summer. No self-respecting cat can eat mice morning, noon and night; and one would have to do so in order to rid the house of them, Why, I should turn into a squeaking cheese eater, myself!

Strange place for Cook to leave cheese, strikes me — the kitchen table; but it should make a fine hunting ground. If I'd only seen it before, I needn't have wasted so much time in front of that hole up in the attic — and I caught only three and a half mice during the whole week.

I suppose some boastful cats would call it four, but a first-class mouser like myself doesn't have to stretch a tale (Tail! Good pun, that — Ha! Ha!) to keep up her reputation, and that little Spring mouse really had no more meat on than half a full-grown one.

Spring mice certainly are delicious if people only realized it — much sweeter and juicier than Spring Chickens, and tender! My Furry Ear-tips! It makes my mouth water to think of them! Their only drawback is their drawing back. The best of them will never come out far enough from the holes for —

Gracious Cattails! What was that?

It is! There are his whiskers , now an eye — ear — Ah-h-h! Now he's coming! Yes, right over to this very table — I must keep still. Now down so: close behind the cheese. It's a good thing I'm not a big cat.

Well, I never! That was a close squeak — I got that tail under just in time!

Pretty poor memory, I call it, to forget one's own tail. If that mouse had seen —

What! There's another, and half way over here. The first one must be close by the table leg, though I cant see him.

And still another just coming out of the hole! Claws and Whiskers! If my heart beats like this I'll never on this table be able to jump straight — never.

One more — four! Talk about your mouse hunting! Why my paws tremble so I shall have regular "mouse-ague" in a minute .

They're all making for the cheese; I can hear their claws scampering up the wood. One-two-three-where's the last? There's the fourth patter. I should get two, for they're close together and eating very intently.

Now for it!

Dear, dear! What a noise that front door does make. Master Harold's little voice, too —

Oh, my eyes and teeth! Why need they have come just now? Those mice heard it, too — they've stopped eating. Oh-h-h!

(Little boy bangs into kitchen and snatches Tabitha Tiger ecstatically from table. Mice scatter back to hole.)

(Tabitha Tiger) Mr-r-r-ow!, Sf-f-ft! Sf-f-ft! (Scratch scratch.)

(Little Boy) Boo-hoo-hoo! (Slap -slap. Boy runs away)

(Tabitha Tiger) He spoiled the finest mouse catch of the season, and I had to scratch him — a puss can't stand everything!

Gracious Cattails!

Since his fluffy kittenhood Dot has been afraid of beetles, grasshoppers, crickets and, in fact, any large insect. That is rather strange in a kitten, is it not? But he had one experience which I think excuses his timidity.

It was on a warm summer morning that he and his twin — no, let us say triplet — brother Dab (the three kittens were called Dot, Dab and Fluff, for they were too tiny to toddle around under heavier names, their mistress said) were lying sleepily in their favorite corner of the piazza. To make sure he was missing nothing that a kitten should not miss, Dot opened his drowsy eyes and looked around. Instantly the drowsy look vanished and was replaced by one of intense interest.

For lo! crawling toward their corner was a many-legged, shiny black thing with pinch-y, dangerous-looking horns! Dot did not altogether like its looks; but curiosity was strong, and, calling to Dab, he started for the intruder.

Keeping safely behind the more venturesome brother, Dab followed at a slow trot.

"See-e-e! it's alive!" mewed Dot excitedly. "Let's play with it."

"Mee — you try it first," squeaked Dab.

Dot cautiously extended a pink paw toward the beetle; and it came steadily on, and the paw was hastily withdrawn. Meanwhile Dab, too, had lifted a paw to make a test of the small, awesome stranger, but thought better of it. How dare he venture when Dot would not?

As the kittens hesitated, a wasp that had been hovering near alighted on Dot's furry head and rested there for an instant. It would not have harmed him, had not the beetle become alarmed at a sudden spat from Dab, and blundered hurriedly away in another direction. This happened to be directly at Dot, for whose tottering courage the sudden charge was too much! he vault to one side, in his turn startling the wasp which promptly stung him.

With a pained cry the little kitten dashed wildly from the verandah, and it was several days before he could be persuaded to go on it again — the beetle had been on the piazza!

As he had not seen or felt the wasp until it stung him, his kitten mind could only think that somehow the awful black thing had hurt him cruelly. No more piazzas with painful "black things" for him, thank you! Its name he heard afterward from his mistress.

Now the kittens are almost full-grown cats ,and the ground is covered with snow. Dot dislikes the snowflakes, but he prefers them to beetles, and the beetles are gone! But even yet he does not quite forget his baby terror.

One evening shortly before Christmas Mistress Dorothy went in to where her pets sat basking in the warmth of the kitchen stove, carrying with her their usual supply of warm milk. The cats were on their feet at once, while the girl mischievously held the milk just beyond their reach. Mewing softly beneath their breath they were surely trying to say "please!" just as politely as they could.

Still the milk was withheld, and they grew restless; they shifted from one foot to another working their claws madly in and out; they purred sonorously and walked rapidly around one another They rubbed sides so vigorously as almost to knock each other over but never forgot to keep an anxious eye toward the coveted supper.

Dorothy at last relented — as they knew she would! — and, stopping to set the dish down, a sprig of holly dropped from her belt, just as Dot, turning, gave a particularly ecstatic hump to his back.

Suddenly his tail bushed out like a bolster, his eyes fairly bulged, and he jumped clean off the floor. In front of him was the holly which a quick puff of air through the open door had blown scratching unevenly over the floor directly at poor Dot.

"Sft-sft-ft-sft! Beetle!" spat the terrified pussy. He was far too scared to run — fairly stiff with fright, for this unknown thing might — it might — anything!

Laughing so heartily that she was almost helpless, Dorothy snatched up the offending branch and again placed it at her waist. Then Dot saw his mistake, and as his mistress seated herself he sprang upon her lap and commenced to play with the bright berries — very brave he was, since he understood!

Dorothy let him pretend he had been playing before; but she really knew that he hadn't been — just as well as you and I know.