Jazbury came scampering gaily up the stairs to where his mother and
Aunt Tabby were sitting on the window-sill washing their faces and
cleaning their fur.
Jazbury was a small black kitten with white markings on his face and
breast, and soft little white paws. Soft as those little paws were
there were sharp, needle claws hidden in their velvet, and Jazbury knew
how to use them when necessary, too.
Mother Bunch's tail hung down from the window-seat, waving softly. It
looked almost like a mouse, so soft and grey. Jazbury made a jump, and
caught it with his claws. His mother growled and drew her tail up and
curled it around her.
Jazbury jumped up after it, and tried to tease his mother into playing
with him.
"Jazbury, you haven't washed yourself this morning," said his aunt
severely. "Look at your paws. You've been in the coal-bin again, you
naughty kitten."
"Well, I thought I heard a mouse there," mewed Jazbury.
"A mouse! What would a mouse be doing in the coal-bin? No, you just
wanted an excuse for clambering about among the coal and making it
rattle. And now look how dirty you are."
"Sit down and make yourself clean, Jazbury," said his mother. "No; let
my tail alone. I'm not going to play with you. And if you want any
breakfast you'd better make haste to wash yourself. I will _not_ have
such a dirty kitten eating from the saucer with me."
Jazbury sat down and began to wash his face with one of his grimy
little paws.
His aunt sighed. "Paws first," she said. "You'll only make yourself
dirtier if you try to wash your face before you clean your paws."
"Oh, dear me!" mewed Jazbury crossly.
"I really don't know what's going to become of you if you don't keep
yourself cleaner," his aunt went on. "I'm really afraid something
terrible may happen to you. I knew a cat once who wouldn't wash
herself, and so her mistress used to do it for her with _water_, so she
was wet all over. Water and soap! And a sponge! How would you feel if
that happened to you some day? And it may unless you learn to keep
yourself cleaner."
Jazbury was frightened at the thought that such a thing might happen to
him, too, if he didn't keep himself clean, and he set about washing
himself in earnest. First he washed his paws, and after he had cleaned
them he cleaned his face, licking his paw with his little pink tongue,
and curling it round over his furry little cheeks and forehead and chin
and even behind his ears. By breakfast time he was clean enough to be
allowed to eat with his mother and Aunt Tabby.
The human people and the cat people had their breakfast at the same
time. The human people had theirs in the dining-room, and the cat
people had theirs in the pantry. The cat people always had very good
meals; bread and milk, and fish twice a week, and sometimes meat and
potatoes.
"What's the use of my bothering to catch mice?" Jazbury often said. "I
get all I want to eat anyway."
And his aunt would answer, "You ought to feel grateful enough for your
good meals to _want_ to catch mice for people."
But Jazbury paid little attention to such advice. All he cared for was
having a good time and play about, and if mice had to be caught he left
it to his mother and Aunt Tabby to do it.
[Illustration: _The cat people always had very good meals_]