BLACKIE IN TROUBLE
Blackie soon grew tired of running, and slowed down into a walk.
“It doesn’t really matter much what I do, as long as I keep on going
away,” thought the black cat. “I can walk or run, so Speckle said, and
he ought to know, for he has run away a number of times.”
Blackie walked on and on, down the city street. Soon she came to a
corner, and she stood there a moment, looking up and down, wondering
which way she had better go. She had come past many houses, and had
passed many persons in the street, mostly women and men, for all the
children were at school. No one did more than look at Blackie, for all
were too busy, I suppose.
As Blackie stood on the corner she saw a cat on the porch of a house
near by. Blackie knew this cat a little, for once the cat, whose name
was Muffins, had come walking in Blackie’s yard.
And, once or twice, Blackie had been as far as this corner herself. So
she knew Muffins a little.
“Hello, Blackie!” meowed Muffins. “You’re quite a stranger. I haven’t
seen you in some time. Where are you going?”
“I’m running away,” answered Blackie.
“Running away! You surprise me,” cried the other cat. “What is the
matter? Did they treat you badly at your home? Didn’t they give you
enough to eat?”
“Oh, yes, plenty,” said the black cat. “And they treated me very
kindly, too.”
“Then why in the world are you running away?” Muffins wanted to know.
“I want to have some adventures, as Speckle did.”
“What are adventures, and who is Speckle?” asked Muffins.
“Adventures are things that happen to you,” replied Blackie, “and you
never can have them happen as long as you are around the house. You
have to run away to get them. That’s why I’m running away. And Speckle
is the cat who lives next door to me.”
“I don’t know him,” spoke Muffins.
“He just moved there,” went on Blackie, “and he was only just let up
out of the cellar.”
“Hum!” said Muffins. “Well, run away if you like, but, as for me, I can
find plenty of adventures around the house. Why, only a little while
ago, the cook dropped a bottle of cream and spilled it on the kitchen
floor. I was there and I licked up all the cream. Oh, it was good!
I’d invite you in to have some, only it’s all gone now. That _was_ an
adventure, I can tell you!”
“Yes, cream is good,” said Blackie, “but I don’t call that an
adventure.”
“No?” asked Muffins. “Then, pray tell me, what is an adventure?”
“Oh, when a dog chases you and makes you jump a higher fence than you
ever before leaped over,” said Blackie. “That is an adventure.”
“Yes, I should say so,” agreed Muffins. “It’s a kind I shouldn’t like.
I’d rather have our cook drop another bottle of cream.”
“Oh, well, of course _all_ adventures that come to you when you have
run away aren’t dog-chasing ones,” said Blackie. “I only spoke of that
one because Speckle told me. I really never had any adventures myself
so I can’t tell you about them. But, anyhow, I am running away. Would
you like to come along?” asked Blackie politely of Muffins.
“No, I thank you. I’m going to stay here. Home is good enough for me.
But where are you going to run to, if I may ask?”
“Oh, not any special place,” answered the black cat. “I am just going
to run, that’s all.”
“What? And not know where you’re going? That’s queer. I should think if
you ran away you’d have to have a place to run to.”
“Not at all,” said Blackie. “Speckle ran away many times, and he never
said anything about going to any special place.”
Muffins shook her head.
“It doesn’t seem right,” she said. “I’d want to know where I was going,
even if I ran away.”
“That’s part of the adventure, not knowing where you’re going,” said
Blackie. “Now I can go up the street, or down the street, just as I
please. If I had picked out a place to run to I’d have to go there
whether I wanted to or not. No, it’s best to run away just as Speckle
did, and then see what happens. So you won’t come with me?”
“Thank you, no.”
“Then I must go alone, I suppose. Well, when I come back I will tell
you all my adventures,” Blackie promised.
“Yes, do,” invited Muffins. “I shall like to hear about them, even if I
can not go myself.”
Then the two cats said good-by, in cat-talk, and Blackie turned down
the side street. She had never been there before. It was like going to
a new world for her, or as when you children visit or board at a new
place in the country, or at the seashore, on your vacation.
“Now my adventures will begin!” thought the black cat.
She went slowly along the street, keeping close to the fences, for this
street was a bigger one, and busier than that on which Blackie lived.
There were trolley cars on it, and many wagons, also.
Once Blackie saw a boy going along with a basket on his arm. From the
basket came a lovely smell of meat, and, what Blackie liked best of
all, liver. She ran toward the boy with the basket, thinking he might
give her a bit, as Arthur often did.
But when the butcher-boy saw the cat he cried: “Scat!” and looked
around for a stone to throw.
“My, you’re awfully stingy with your meat,” thought Blackie, as she
ran behind a tree so the boy could not hit her. “I don’t see why you
wouldn’t give me a bit.”
But of course the meat in the basket was for the family that had bought
it, and the boy could not give any away. If Blackie had gone to the
butcher shop the man there might have given her a bit of liver.
“Scat! Scoot!” cried the boy, as he ran up to the tree, and he made a
hissing noise through his teeth. Blackie was afraid he would hurt her,
so she climbed up the tree as fast as she could, knowing quite well
how to do that with her sharp claws.
“Ha! Go up a tree, will you?” cried the boy. “If I had time I’d make
you come down! Trying to get my meat! The idea!”
“Oh, I never tried to get any of his meat!” thought Blackie, for she
heard what the butcher-boy said. “But you might have given me a little.”
However, Blackie was now safely up the tree, and she stayed there until
the boy went off whistling down the street. Blackie was about to come
down when she happened to see a dog on the ground below. The dog did
not look to be a kind and gentle one.
“I guess I’ll just stay up here until he is gone,” Blackie said to
herself. “Safety first!”
The dog sniffed around the tree a little and then, as he saw another
dog down the street, ran away.
“Now is my chance,” thought Blackie, and down she came, running along
close to the fence as she had done before.
“Well, that was two little adventures,” the black cat said after a
while, “being chased by a butcher-boy up a tree, and seeing a dog under
me. Though I suppose Speckle would not think much of them. Still I may
have other things happen to me. I must keep on.”
By this time Blackie was getting hungry and thirsty, so she looked
around for something to eat. She saw no nice saucer of milk, as she
would have seen had she been at home, for one can’t find saucers of
milk in the street. Nor was there any nice liver, or bit of fish, lying
around.
“Still one can’t have everything one wants when one runs away,” Blackie
said.
The cat came to a fountain in a little park, and there she drank some
water. But before she had finished along came a dog, and chased her
away. Blackie ran into the bushes.
“Oh, dear!” she thought, her heart beating very fast. “Running away
isn’t as nice as I thought it would be. Still it may be nicer later on.”
Farther on down the street walked Blackie, looking from side to side
for something to eat. But though she passed butcher and grocery stores
she did not feel like going in and mewing to show that she wanted to
eat.
“I ought to have asked Speckle what he did for food when he ran away,”
thought Blackie. “I forgot about it. I may find something soon.”
A little later Blackie passed a house the door of which was open.
“That looks inviting,” thought the black cat. “I am sure kind people
must live there, or they would not leave a door open for cats or dogs
to go in. I’ll go in, and maybe they’ll give me something to eat.”
Blackie looked all around, to make sure there were no dogs about, and
then she went up the front steps. In through the front door of the
house she went, and then she saw something that surprised her. There
was no furniture in the house, and no one was in sight.
“Nobody lives here,” said Blackie. “But perhaps they are just going to
move in, as Speckle’s folks did. I’ll wait a bit. That’s what must be
going to happen. They had the door open to bring in the furniture. When
the people come they’ll give me some milk, I’m sure.”
Blackie walked through the empty rooms of the house. She went out to
the kitchen, and no one was there. Then she went up to the second
floor, and no one was there.
While up on the second floor Blackie heard the front door being shut
with a bang.
“Oh, perhaps that’s the folks moving in,” she mewed. “I’ll run down and
see.”
Down the stairs scampered the black cat, but there was no one in the
house. The front door was shut, and Blackie, of course, could not open
it. I once had a cat that could open a door with a latch on. This door,
however, had a knob, and Blackie could not turn that.
“Well, I wonder what happened?” thought Blackie. “Perhaps the wind
blew the door shut.”
She jumped up on a window sill and looked out. She saw a man going down
the front steps of the house.
“He must have shut the door,” thought Blackie, and the man had. He
owned the house, and he had come that day to see if it had been cleaned
when the people moved out. He had opened the door, gone in and looked
about. When he came out, to look around the back yard, he left the
front door open. It was then that Blackie went in. Then the man, not
seeing the cat in his house, shut the door, locking Blackie in, and he
went away.
“Well, if I can’t get out the front door I’ll go to the back,” said
Blackie. She ran to the back door. That was locked too, and all the
windows were closed.
“Oh, dear!” thought Blackie. “I guess I’m in trouble. I’m locked in an
empty house!”