Tertius, as his name signifies, was the third Maltese cat to occupy a
very warm place in the hearts of a certain pet-loving family that lived
on a quiet, tree-shaded street in a beautiful Eastern city.
His predecessors were both noted for their wonderful sagacity and great
achievements, so he felt that he must improve all his opportunities if
he was to keep up to their high standard. Just how they had obtained
their reputation he did not know, and perhaps it was this ignorance that
caused him to make his fatal mistake.
The beautiful house in which he lived had a large veranda on one side,
over which ran a grapevine, and in this grapevine a pair of robins, most
unwisely, decided to build their nest.
“It is a very beautiful spot,” said Mrs. Robin.
“Yes, and that arrangement in the center there will be splendid to lay
the foundation on,” replied Mr. Robin.
“It is so picturesque,” returned Mrs. R., in a rapture of delight.
“And there will be such a nice shade for you, my dear, when the leaves
are out,” added the thoughtful husband.
“It is a much finer situation than Mr. and Mrs. English Sparrow have for
their nest in the eaves up above. Don’t you think so, Rob?”
“Indeed I do, wifey; but we must to work, for the morning is advancing.
Now, you stay here, while I fly off and get the material.”
In a very few days as pretty a little nest was in the spot selected as
you would want to see. Mr. Robin had brought all the material, while his
helpful little wife had constructed the nest.
All this time their movements had been watched by the large, admiring,
but greedy eyes of the ambitious Tertius, and one morning the chance he
had so patiently waited for came. Mr. Robin started out, thinking in his
kind little heart that he would get “little wifey” a particularly large
and tasty worm for her breakfast, and he was so intent in scratching in
the newly turned garden for it that he did not see the slyly, softly
creeping Tertius. One bound, and poor little Rob was caught. He
screamed, he scolded, but all to no purpose. Now was Tertius proud. He
would carry his prize to his mistress, and she would surely say that his
skill and prowess was far beyond that of either of his illustrious
ancestors. So, thinking, with arched back and curling tail, he hastily
gained the house and at once carried his prize to his mistress’ room.
But alas for his well-laid plans! Alas for the praise he had looked for!
Instead, to his intense surprise and anger, he was greeted with a cry of
pain and alarm. The mistress who should have praised rated him well, the
hand that should have stroked his smooth coat wrenched his prize from
him. In his anger he tried to scratch her in return, but she had been
too quick for him, and Robin was saved. Tenderly he was laid in a bed of
cotton and placed on an upper veranda, once more in the sweet, balmy
air. Cautiously he lifted his head, and as no shining green eyes or
sharp paw were to be seen, ventured to hop to the edge of the basket in
which his kind preserver had placed him. One more look around and he
stretched out his wings and soared away.
“Oh, my dear Rob! I heard your cry. Where have you been? Do tell me all
about it!” exclaimed Mrs. Robin on Mr. Robin’s return, and he, in a most
graphic manner, granted her request; but, as we already know all about
it, we won’t stay to listen.
As to Tertius, he has decided that to win his way to fame he must
confine himself in the future to a war on mice.