This was the beginning of a new era. Pussy came to the door of the
building now whenever pinched by hunger, and the good feeling for the
negro grew. She had never understood that man before. He had always
seemed hostile. Now he was her friend, the only one she had.
One week she had a streak of luck. Seven good meals on seven successive
days; and right on the top of the last meal she found a juicy dead Rat,
the genuine thing, a perfect windfall. She had never killed a
full-grown Rat in all her lives, but seized the prize and ran off to
hide it for future use. She was crossing the street in front of the new
building when an old enemy appeared,--the Wharf Dog,--and Kitty
retreated, naturally enough, to the door where she had a friend. Just
as she neared it, he opened the door for a well-dressed man to come
out, and both saw the Cat with her prize.
"Hello! Look at that for a Cat!"
"Yes, sah," answered the negro. "Dat's ma Cat, sah; she's a terror on
Rats, sah! hez 'em about cleaned up, sah; dat's why she's so thin."
"Well, don't let her starve," said the man with the air of the
landlord. "Can't you feed her?
"De liver meat-man comes reg'lar, sah; quatah dollar a week, sah," said
the negro, fully realizing that he was entitled to the extra fifteen
cents for "the idea."
"That's all right. I'll stand it."