scratches. Then Mother
Cat grew desperate and lost her head completely, circling round and
round her baby, now coaxing Calico to jump out--"As if I wouldn't if I
could!" thought the kitten--now crying piteously. After what seemed to
Tabby an age, but was really less than five minutes, the groom, who had
really been the innocent cause of all this trouble, sauntered in and put
an end to it by lifting Calico tenderly out. Gently he dried the little
trembling thing, and sat her down in her comfortable box once more,
where Mrs. Cat at once cuddled down close beside her. Suddenly spying
her sisters again, she made a fresh start only to be stopped by a
well-directed slap from her mother's swift paw. "M'you, M'you!" snapped
Mrs. Cat. "You just sit still for a while. I've had worry enough for one
day, and I _will_ not help you out again."

"I _don't_ want you to," sniffed Calico, rubbing her still smarting nose
thoughtfully.

Tabby sighed, as the kitten made yet another start for her sisters, but
wisely let her go.

"Did you _ever_?" she groaned; "but then, kittens will be kittens!"

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

A Feline Fantasy.

"Oh, Maria?"
"Tom?"
"'Ria!"
"Tom!"
"'_R-r-ria_!"
The two voices grew fervent, rose higher--
Till their serenades sweet
Interruption did meet
From a bootjack that took a quick flyer.

A Night On.

"I've a very great longing for a sweet juicy robin; what do you say to
catching one or two, you old moon-gazer?"

Whitey gave Mr. Twinkletoes Black a playful chuck under the chin,
skipped gleefully across the moonlit roof and back, and sat down
sociably by him, before that leisurely pussy turned his head to look
scornfully at the youthful--I almost said "speaker," but as all of their
conversation is in cat language perhaps "mewer" would be more exact.

"You foolish kitten! Who ever caught a robin in December?"

"My _dear_ boy!"--Twinkletoes' tone made Whitey think he was anything but
a dear boy--"When you've lived three years as I have (Whitey was just
ten months old) you'll know December when you--er--_feel_ it! It's apt to
be cool, and snow--Ugh! Horrid stuff, it is; white--sticks to your feet
you know; wet!--" The fussy Mr. Black shook a dainty paw at the very
thought, while Whitey listened eagerly, so that the next time he would
know how December felt.

"There's one nice thing about it," added Twinkletoes: