IX

Cats can go very fast up a tree or over a wall, but when it comes to

the long steady trot that reels off mile after mile, hour after hour,

it is not the cat-hop, but the dog-trot, that counts. Although the

travelling was good and the path direct, an hour had gone before two

more miles were put between her and the Hades of roses. She was tired

and a little foot-sore. She was thinking of rest when a Dog came

running to the fence near by, and broke out into such a horrible

barking close to her ear that Pussy leaped in terror. She ran as hard

as she could down the path, at the same time watching to see if the Dog

should succeed in passing the fence. No, not yet! but he ran close by

it, growling horribly, while Pussy skipped along on the safe side. The

barking of the Dog grew into a low rumble--a louder rumble and

roaring--a terrifying thunder. A light shone. Kitty glanced back to

see, not the Dog, but a huge Black Thing with a blazing red eye coming

on, yowling and spitting like a yard full of Cats. She put forth all

her powers to run, made such time as she had never made before, but

dared not leap the fence. She was running like a Dog, was flying, but

all in vain; the monstrous pursuer overtook her, but missed her in the

darkness, and hurried past to be lost in the night, while Kitty

crouched gasping for breath, half a mile nearer home since that Dog

began to bark.

This was her first encounter with the strange monster, strange to her

eyes only; her nose seemed to know him and told her this was another

landmark on the home trail. But Pussy lost much of her fear of his

kind. She learned that they were very stupid and could not find her if

she slipped quietly under a fence and lay still. Before morning she had

encountered several of them, but escaped unharmed from all.

About sunrise she reached a nice little slum on her home trail, and was

lucky enough to find several unsterilized eatables in an ash-heap. She

spent the day around a stable where were two Dogs and a number of small

boys, that between them came near ending her career. It was so very

like home; but she had no idea of staying there. She was driven by the

old craving, and next evening set out as before. She had seen the

one-eyed Thunder-rollers all day going by, and was getting used to

them, so travelled steadily all that night. The next day was spent in a

barn where she caught a Mouse, and the next night was like the last,

except that a Dog she encountered drove her backward on her trail for a

long way. Several times she was misled by angling roads, and wandered

far astray, but in time she wandered back again to her general

southward course. The days were passed in skulking under barns and

hiding from Dogs and small boys, and the nights in limping along the

track, for she was getting foot-sore; but on she went, mile after mile,

southward, ever southward--Dogs, boys, Roarers, hunger--Dogs, boys,

Roarers, hunger--yet on and onward still she went, and her nose from

time to time cheered her by confidently reporting, "There surely is a

smell we passed last spring."

X

So a week went by, and Pussy, dirty, ribbon-less, foot-sore, and weary,

arrived at the Harlem Bridge. Though it was enveloped in delicious

smells, she did not like the look of that bridge. For half the night

she wandered up and down the shore without discovering any other means

of going south, excepting some other bridges, or anything of interest

except that here the men were as dangerous as the boys. Somehow she had

to come back to it; not only its smells were familiar, but from time to

time, when a One-eye ran over it, there was that peculiar rumbling roar

that was a sensation in the springtime trip. The calm of the late night

was abroad when she leaped to the timber stringer and glided out over

the water. She had got less than a third of the way across when a

thundering One-eye came roaring at her from the opposite end. She was

much frightened, but knowing their stupidity and blindness, she dropped

to a low side beam and there crouched in hiding. Of course the stupid

Monster missed her and passed on, and all would have been well, but it

turned back, or another just like it came suddenly spitting behind her.

Pussy leaped to the long track and made for the home shore. She might

have got there had not a third of the Red-eyed Terrors come screeching

at her from that side. She was running her hardest, but was caught

between two foes. There was nothing for it but a desperate leap from

the timbers into-she didn't know what. Down, down, down-plop, splash,

plunge into the deep water, not cold, for it was August, but oh, so

horrible! She spluttered and coughed when she came to the top, glanced

around to see if the Monsters were swimming after her, and struck out

for shore. She had never learned to swim, and yet she swam, for the

simple reason that a Cat's position and actions in swimming are the

same as her position and actions in walking. She had fallen into a

place she did not like; naturally she tried to walk out, and the result

was that she swam ashore. Which shore? The home-love never fails: the

south side was the only shore for her, the one nearest home. She

scrambled out all dripping wet, up the muddy bank and through

coal-piles and dust-heaps, looking as black, dirty, and unroyal as it

was possible for a Cat to look.

Once the shock was over, the Royal-pedigreed Slummer began to feel

better for the plunge. A genial glow without from the bath, a genial

sense of triumph within, for had she not outwitted three of the big

Terrors?

Her nose, her memory, and her instinct of direction inclined her to get

on the track again; but the place was infested with those

Thunder-rollers, and prudence led her to turn aside and follow the

river-bank with its musky home-reminders; and thus she was spared the

unspeakable horrors of the tunnel.

She was over three days learning the manifold dangers and complexities

of the East River docks. Once she got by mistake on a ferryboat and was

carried over to Long Island; but she took an early boat back. At length

on the third night she reached familiar ground, the place she had

passed the night of her first escape. From that her course was sure and

rapid. She knew just where she was going and how to get there. She knew

even the more prominent features in the Dog-scape now. She went faster,

felt happier. In a little while surely she would be curled up in her

native Orient--the old junk-yard. Another turn, and the block was in

sight.

But--what! It was gone! Kitty couldn't believe her eyes; but she must,

for the sun was not yet up. There where once had stood or leaned or

slouched or straggled the houses of the block, was a great broken

wilderness of stone, lumber, and holes in the ground.

Kitty walked all around it. She knew by the bearings and by the local

color of the pavement that she was in her home, that there had lived

the bird-man, and there was the old junk-yard; but all were gone,

completely gone, taking their familiar odors with them, and Pussy

turned sick at heart in the utter hopelessness of the case. Her

place-love was her master-mood. She had given up all to come to a home

that no longer existed, and for once her sturdy little heart was cast

down. She wandered over the silent heaps of rubbish and found neither

consolation nor eatables. The ruin had taken in several of the blocks

and reached back from the water. It was not a fire; Kitty had seen one

of those things. This looked more like the work of a flock of the

Red-eyed Monsters. Pussy knew nothing of the great bridge that was to

rise from this very spot.

When the sun came up she sought for cover. An adjoining block still

stood with little change, and the Royal Analostan retired to that. She

knew some of its trails; but once there, was unpleasantly surprised to

find the place swarming with Cats that, like herself, were driven from

their old grounds, and when the garbage-cans came out there were

several Slummers at each. It meant a famine in the land, and Pussy,

after standing it a few days, was reduced to seeking her other home on

Fifth Avenue. She got there to find it shut up and deserted. She waited

about for a day; had an unpleasant experience with a big man in a blue

coat, and next night returned to the crowded slum.

September and October wore away. Many of the Cats died of starvation or

were too weak to escape their natural enemies. But Kitty, young and

strong, still lived.

Great changes had come over the ruined blocks. Though silent on the

night when she first saw them, they were crowded with noisy workmen all

day. A tall building, well advanced on her arrival, was completed at

the end of October, and Slum Kitty, driven by hunger, went sneaking up

to a pail that a negro had set outside. The pail, unfortunately, was

not for garbage; it was a new thing in that region: a scrubbing-pail. A

sad disappointment, but it had a sense of comfort--there were traces of

a familiar touch on the handle. While she was studying it, the negro

elevator-boy came out again. In spite of his blue clothes, his odorous

person confirmed the good impression of the handle. Kitty had retreated

across the street. He gazed at her.

"Sho ef dat don't look like de Royal Ankalostan! Hyar, Pussy, Pussy,

Pu-s-s-s-s-y! Co-o-o-o-m-e, Pu-u-s-s-sy, hyar! I 'spec's she's sho

hungry."

Hungry! She hadn't had a real meal for months. The negro went into the

building and reappeared with a portion of his own lunch.

"Hyar, Pussy, Puss, Puss, Puss!" It seemed very good, but Pussy had her

doubts of the man. At length he laid the meat on the pavement, and went

back to the door. Slum Kitty came forward very warily; sniffed at the

meat, seized it, and fled like a little Tigress to eat her prize in

peace.