Round the outskirts of the farm the wallflowers crowd in full bloom,
flaming and glowing in the nearly risen sun.
A little fox-coloured cat curls in and out among the flowers, sniffing
the yellow goose-grass and the purple thyme. With its own inimitable
deftness it avoids the dew.
It follows a human “spoor,” the pursuit of which its big brother has
long since abandoned on account of its acid smell.
Red reaches a garden; she enters--and now she scents spoor after spoor,
all of which lead along the hedge towards a heap of branches, where
they stand still for a long time.
She makes, as usual, a thorough investigation, sniffing each single
stone and leaf; but this time she is unlucky, and fails to remark
a little grey-brown partridge, which now, for the third year in
succession, hatches its eggs under the branches on the opposite side of
the hedge.
Here, in the leafy soil, the bird has formed its nest. The maid had
found it one day when hoeing the weeds from the path, and now she goes
there every day to look after her bird.
The ceaseless, soothing rustle of the poplar-leaves and the hollow,
satisfied purring of the rye filter through the hedge and distract the
scavenger’s attention. Then she surprises a dragon-fly with the morning
dew still on its wings....
Suddenly a burst of chirping and whistling streams out from an open
window: a bright yellow canary hops joyfully in its wire-bound cage.
Not a single “human” to be seen or heard! Red leaves the dragon-fly
to work out its own salvation and wriggles like a worm towards the
unsuspecting bird.
But how can she capture it?
Ah, that is _her_ specialty! Out in the wilds she fails time after
time; she is not quick enough, not bold enough, not sure enough! She
does not understand how to _work_; but she is a genius at thieving!
The fear of detection stimulates her special powers and characteristics
to an incredible degree. During these brief periods she becomes far
more cunning and far more ferocious than any of the other kittens.
If only the bird could fly up and away--she would be foiled at once!
Or if it could only keep calm and remain sitting in the middle of its
perch in its safe, wire-bound cage--all her efforts would be useless.
But the terrified canary begins to flutter about wildly--and Red’s
tactics make her still more confused.
The cat keeps jumping from one side to the other; and then up on the
top of the cage and down again....
The more maddened and confused the poor bird becomes, the calmer and
more composed is the cat. With cold-blooded precision she waits until
her victim comes within reach, then thrusts her strong paw against the
cage. The thin wires separate, and through the aperture her scythe-like
claws impale the canary and haul it towards her. One mouthful and it
is gone!
Now for flight....
Like a streak of sunlight she glides along the window-sill and leaps
to the ground--while sparrows from the gutter fight for the yellow
feather, which the warm summer breeze loosens from her whiskers and
bears aloft.
Once in the garden she gets up speed, scurries along the hedge, through
into the cornfield, and so along the hedge again.
But why run? No shout or bark breaks the silence ... it does not look
as if mankind’s four-legged police have seen her this time!