Jap Malee lingered around that cage, taking in the remarks, for
hours--drinking a draught of glory such as he had never known in life
before and rarely glimpsed in his dreams. But he saw that it would be
wise for him to remain unknown; his "butler" must do all the business.
It was Slum Kitty who made that show a success. Each day her value went
up in her owner's eyes. He did not know what prices had been given for
Cats, and thought that he was touching a record pitch when his "butler"
gave the director authority to sell the Analostan for one hundred
dollars.
This is how it came about that the Slum Cat found herself transferred
from the show to a Fifth Avenue mansion. She evinced a most
unaccountable wildness at first. Her objection to petting, however, was
explained on the ground of her aristocratic dislike of familiarity. Her
retreat from the Lap-dog onto the centre of the dinner-table was
understood to express a deep-rooted though mistaken idea of avoiding a
defiling touch. Her assaults on a pet Canary were condoned for the
reason that in her native Orient she had been used to despotic example.
The patrician way in which she would get the cover off a milk-can was
especially applauded. Her dislike of her silk-lined basket, and her
frequent dashes against the plate-glass windows, were easily
understood: the basket was too plain, and plate-glass was not used in
her royal home. Her spotting of the carpet evidenced her Eastern modes
of thought. The failure of her several attempts to catch Sparrows in
the high-walled back yard was new proof of the royal impotency of her
bringing up; while her frequent wallowings in the garbage-can were
understood to be the manifestation of a little pardonable high-born
eccentricity. She was fed and pampered, shown and praised; but she was
not happy. Kitty was homesick! She clawed at that blue ribbon round her
neck till she got it off; she jumped against the plate-glass because
that seemed the road to outside; she avoided people and Dogs because
they had always proved hostile and cruel; and she would sit and gaze on
the roofs and back yards at the other side of the window, wishing she
could be among them for a change.
But she was strictly watched, was never allowed outside--so that all
the happy garbage-can moments occurred while these receptacles of joy
were indoors. One night in March, however, as they were set out a-row
for the early scavenger, the Royal Analostan saw her chance, slipped
out of the door, and was lost to view.
Of course there was a grand stir; but Pussy neither knew nor cared
anything about that--her one thought was to go home. It may have been
chance that took her back in the direction of Gramercy Grange Hill, but
she did arrive there after sundry small adventures. And now what? She
was not at home, and she had cut off her living. She was beginning to
be hungry, and yet she had a peculiar sense of happiness. She cowered
in a front garden for some time. A raw east wind had been rising, and
now it came to her with a particularly friendly message; man would have
called it an unpleasant smell of the docks, but to Pussy it was welcome
tidings from home. She trotted down the long Street due east, threading
the rails of front gardens, stopping like a statue for an instant, or
crossing the street in search of the darkest side, and came at length
to the docks and to the water. But the place was strange. She could go
north or south. Something turned her southward; and, dodging among
docks and Dogs, carts and Cats, crooked arms of the bay and straight
board fences, she got, in an hour or two, among familiar scenes and
smells; and, before the sun came up, she had crawled back--weary and
foot-sore through the same old hole in the same old fence and over a
wall to her junk-yard back of the bird-cellar--yes, back into the very
cracker-box where she was born.
Oh, if the Fifth Avenue family could only have seen her in her native
Orient!
After a long rest she came quietly down from the cracker-box toward the
steps leading to the cellar, engaged in her old-time pursuit of seeking
for eatables. The door opened, and there stood the negro. He shouted to
the bird-man inside:
"Say, boss, come hyar. Ef dere ain't dat dar Royal Ankalostan am comed
back!"
Jap came in time to see the Cat jumping the wall. They called loudly
and in the most seductive, wheedling tones: "Pussy, Pussy, poor Pussy!
Come, Pussy!" But Pussy was not prepossessed in their favor, and
disappeared to forage in her old-time haunts.
The Royal Analostan had been a windfall for Jap--had been the means of
adding many comforts to the cellar and several prisoners to the cages.
It was now of the utmost importance to recapture her majesty. Stale
meat-offal and other infallible lures were put out till Pussy, urged by
the reestablished hunger-pinch, crept up to a large fish-head in a
box-trap; the negro, in watching, pulled the string that dropped the
lid, and, a minute later, the Analostan was once more among the
prisoners in the cellar. Meanwhile Jap had been watching the 'Lost and
Found' column. There it was, "$25 reward," etc. That night Mr. Malee's
butler called at the Fifth Avenue mansion with the missing cat. "Mr.
Malee's compliments, sah. De Royal Analostan had recurred in her recent
proprietor's vicinity and residence, sah. Mr. Malee had pleasure in
recuperating the Royal Analostan, sah." Of course Mr. Malee could not
be rewarded, but the butler was open to any offer, and plainly showed
that he expected the promised reward and something more.
Kitty was guarded very carefully after that; but so far from being
disgusted with the old life of starving, and glad of her ease, she
became wilder and more dissatisfied.