etches out her toes to touch Cat, who is sitting in front of her.
"I couldn't think what to do. It's so hard to think when your feet hurt."

"It certainly is," agrees Mom. She goes out to the kitchen to finish
fixing dinner, and Pop suggests Mary better phone her home. She gets her
father, and her mother has left a message that she was delayed and figured
Mary would go home alone. Mary gives her father our address and tells him
she'll be home by nine.

We must have hit a lucky day because we have a real good dinner: slices of
good whole meat, not mushed up stuff, and potatoes cooked with cheese in
them, and salad, and a lemon meringue pie from the bakery, even.

After dinner we sit around a little while, and Pop says I better take Mary
home, and he gives me money for a cab at the end of the subway. When Mary
gives the driver her home address, I say it over to myself a few times so
I'll remember.

Suddenly I wonder about something. "Say, how'd you know _my_ phone
number?"

"I looked it up," she says simply. "There's about twenty-eleven Mitchells
in the Manhattan phone book, but only one in the East Twenties, so I
figured that must be you."

"Gee, that's true. You must have had an awful time, though, standing in
the phone booth with your feet hurting, going through all those
Mitchells."

Says Mary, "Oh, no. I did it one rainy afternoon at home, weeks ago."

Well, what do you know.

18

[Illustration: Raised champagne glasses toasting Cat.]

"HERE'S TO CAT!"

The two stray kittens gradually make themselves at home. Somehow or other
Cat has taught them that he's in charge here, and he just chases them for
fun now and again, when he's not busy sleeping.

As for keeping cats in my room, that's pretty well forgotten. For one
thing, Mom really likes them. She sneaks the kittens saucers of cream and
bits of real hamburger when no one's looking, and she likes talking to
them in the kitchen. She doesn't pick them up, but just having them in the
room sure doesn't give her asthma.

The only time we have any trouble from the cats is one evening when Pop
comes home and the two kittens skid down the hall between his legs, with
Cat after them. He scales his hat at the lot of them and roars down the
hall to me, "Hey, Davey! When are you getting rid of these cats? I'm