"M-e-a-t! M-e-a-t!" is heard the magnetic, cat-conjuring cry of the old
liver-man, as his barrow is pushed up the glorified Scrimper's Alley,
and Cats come crowding, as of yore, to receive their due.
There are Cats black, white, yellow, and gray to be remembered, and,
above all, there are owners to be remembered. As the barrow rounds the
corner near the new building it makes a newly scheduled stop.
"Hyar, you, get out o' the road, you common trash," cries the
liver-man, and he waves his wand to make way for the little gray Cat
with blue eyes and white nose. She receives an unusually large portion,
for Sam is wisely dividing the returns evenly; and Slum Kitty retreats
with her 'daily' into shelter of the great building, to which she is
regularly attached. She has entered into her fourth life with prospects
of happiness never before dreamed of. Everything was against her at
first; now everything seems to be coming her way. It is very doubtful
that her mind was broadened by travel, but she knew what she wanted and
she got it. She has achieved her long-time great ambition by catching,
not a Sparrow, but two of them, while they were clinched in mortal
combat in the gutter.
There is no reason to suppose that she ever caught another Rat; but the
negro secures a dead one when he can, for purposes of exhibition, lest
her pension be imperilled. The dead one is left in the hall till the
proprietor comes; then it is apologetically swept away. "Well, drat dat
Cat, sah; dat Royal Ankalostan blood, sah, is terrors on Rats."
She has had several broods since. The negro thinks the Yellow Tom is
the father of some of them, and no doubt the negro is right.
He has sold her a number of times with a perfectly clear conscience,
knowing quite well that it is only a question of a few days before the
Royal Analostan comes back again. Doubtless he is saving the money for
some honorable ambition. She has learned to tolerate the elevator, and
even to ride up and down on it. The negro stoutly maintains that once,
when she heard the meat-man, while she was on the top floor, she
managed to press the button that called the elevator to take her down.
She is sleek and beautiful again. She is not only one of the four
hundred that form the inner circle about the liver-barrow, but she is
recognized as the star pensioner among them. The liver-man is
positively respectful. Not even the cream-and-chicken fed Cat of the
pawn-broker's wife has such a position as the Royal Analostan. But in
spite of her prosperity, her social position, her royal name and fake
pedigree, the greatest pleasure of her life is to slip out and go
a-slumming in the gloaming, for now, as in her previous lives, she is
at heart, and likely to be, nothing but a dirty little Slum Cat.