BLACKIE GETS OUT
Blackie was quite a wise cat in her way. When she had been a little
kitten in the country, with her mother, her brothers and sisters, she
had learned many country things, such as all cats must learn. And when
she had been brought to the city she learned some city things. So you
see she had been educated, you might say, to country life and city life.
“But what I am going to do now I don’t know,” thought Blackie. “Here
I am, locked in a house that has no one in it, though maybe if I wait
long enough a new family may move in. But if they don’t come very soon
I’ll starve, unless I can get out. It’s a good thing it is summer, for
I won’t get cold. The weather is nice and warm.”
Blackie walked slowly through the different rooms of the empty house.
She thought perhaps she might find a window open, though when she had
first looked she saw none.
“But there might be a pantry, or a cupboard, with an open window,”
thought the black cat. “I might not have seen it at first.”
So she went carefully all over the first floor. Not a window was open.
The man who owned the house had made sure all were closed, for he
did not want the rain to come in during a storm. So there was no way
Blackie could get out from the first floor.
Of course she might have jumped against a pane of glass and broken it,
for she was a heavy cat. But if she did that she might cut herself.
“Well, if I can’t find a window open down here, I may find one open
upstairs,” thought Blackie. “I guess it wouldn’t be too far to jump
from there. Or I may be able to jump in a tree and climb down, if a
tree is near enough to an open window.”
Blackie went upstairs and looked for an open window. But alas! there
was none. True, the black cat did find a tree growing close to a
window, but there was no way of getting out in it.
“Oh, dear!” thought poor Blackie. “I certainly am in a lot of trouble.
I should never have gone in this house without knowing more about it. I
suppose I should not have run away. But no, I must not say that. I want
to become a good fence-jumper, and running away seems to be the only
way to do it. I guess I’ll be all right. Some one may come and let me
out.”
Blackie was not so frightened as another cat might have been who had
not lived in both the country and the city. She knew how to think, and
she remembered how she had once been shut in the barn before she was
taken away from the farm.
That time Blackie had been locked up a whole day and a night, but
finally some one heard her mewing and let her out. And oh! how hungry
and thirsty she had been!
“I guess I’ll try crying now,” thought Blackie. “Some one may hear me
out in the street.”
Blackie did not mean that she was going to “cry” real tears, but that
she was going to mew. Some folks call that crying for a cat.
“Yes, that’s what I’ll do,” said Blackie to herself. “I’ll get up on
the window sill, and mew as loudly as I can.”
Up jumped Blackie to the sill of the window and, looking out in the
street, she opened her mouth and let out a loud:
“_Mew!_”
“They ought to hear that,” thought the black cat. But no one seemed to
hear her. She could see people passing along the street, boys and girls
being among them, for school was now out. But though once in a while
some one did look at the cat in the window, no one came to let Blackie
out.
“Oh, if only Arthur or Mabel would pass along the street on their way
from school, they might let me out,” thought Blackie. “I wonder if
this is the street by which they come home?”
This was something Blackie could not tell, smart as she was. She could
only hope, and call, which last she did every minute or two.
But every one on the street seemed to be in a great hurry. Men and
women walked quickly past, with only a glance, now and then, at the
black cat in the window. Perhaps they did not stop to think that it was
strange for a cat to be alone in an empty house. Perhaps the people did
not even stop to think that the house was empty. And they might have
thought that if Blackie got in the house she could also get out.
But she could not, as we know, for every door and window was tightly
fastened. And another thing was that only the man who owned the house
had a key to it. So if any one did try to let Blackie out how could
they do it? Blackie did not know all this though. She just knew that
she wanted to be let out, and so she kept on mewing.
“Well, this doesn’t seem to be doing any good,” thought Blackie at
last. “I’m only wasting my time crying this way, and making myself
tired, too. Oh! how thirsty I am! I’d like even a good drink of water,
though of course milk would be much better.
“Still I must not find fault. I ran away on purpose and I must put up
with what I meet with. I should have asked Speckle how he found things
to eat and drink when he ran away. But I forgot all about that. I wish
he had come with me, for he would know what to do now. And I guess he
would not have let me come in this house to get locked up.
“Oh, well, it isn’t night yet, and before dark some one may come. That
man whom I saw going away may come back. I’ll just wait a bit.”
So Blackie waited and waited, but no one came. It was late afternoon
now, and the shadows were getting longer and longer, as the sun went
farther and farther down in the west. No more children passed the
house, for they were all home from school now, and were playing their
games, and having fun.
“I guess Mabel and Arthur are playing, too,” thought Blackie. “I wonder
if they miss me?”
The two children did indeed look for the black cat when they came home
from school, but not finding her they thought little about it at the
time.
“I guess she has gone over to play with the cat next door,” said Arthur.
“I guess so, too,” said his sister. “Come on down the street and we’ll
play with the Blake children. Tommie Blake asked me to come over after
school.”
So Arthur and Mabel ran off to play, not thinking any more about
Blackie for a while, though afterwards, when she did not come home, the
children did not know what to think, and they looked all over for their
pet.
But this story is just about Blackie, and not so much about Arthur or
Mabel, though I may mention them once in a while. Now I must tell you
what happened to the black cat.
She wandered all over the house once more, now and then jumping up on a
window sill that fronted on the street, to give her mewing cry. But if
any one heard her no one tried to get her out of the locked and vacant
house.
“I must do something. I really must!” said Blackie to herself at last.
“Otherwise I shall have to stay in this house all night with nothing
to eat. I’ll go upstairs again and see if there is something to eat up
there. The family may have left something when they moved out.”
Upstairs went Blackie once more, and she hurried through the different
rooms, for it was getting dusk now. Not a thing to eat could poor
Blackie find.
At last she came to another flight of stairs that seemed to lead up to
the roof.
“Why, that’s queer,” said the black cat. “I did not notice them before.
I wonder what they are for? I must go up and find out.”
Blackie walked up these other stairs. They were narrow and quite steep,
and when the cat reached the top she could look up and see the sky
through a crack.
“Ha! This isn’t so bad,” thought Blackie. “Perhaps I can squeeze
through that crack and get out. I’ll try.”
Blackie went up to the highest step. Over her head was a square piece
of wood that seemed to cover a hole in the roof. The wood was really a
cover to what is called a “scuttle,” or hole, in the roof of the house,
which roof was flat, and of tin.
When the men built the house, which was in a long row with many others,
they left a hole in the roof, with stairs leading to it, so when the
roof needed painting, or mending, men could get out on it without
bringing ladders and putting them against the building on the outside.
Then so the rain would not come in through the hole, the men made a
cover for it.
This cover could be lifted up, whenever any one wanted to get out on
the roof, and the cover could be fastened down, by hooks inside, when
the hole was to be closed.
But now, as it happened, the cover was only partly over the hole, and
it was not fastened down. There was a little crack, as when a door is
only partly closed, and Blackie put her nose to this crack. She could
sniff the fresh air.
“Oh, how good that smells!” she said. “If I could only get out!”
Blackie again put her nose in the crack, and, bracing her legs on the
top step, she began to push with her head. Blackie was a strong cat, as
I have said, and soon she began to feel the cover slipping and moving
to one side.
“Oh, I believe I can push it away from over the hole!” said Blackie.
“If I do I can get out! I must push harder!”
Blackie pushed as hard as she could and the scuttle cover moved more.
The crack was wider now. Blackie could put out one paw. Soon she had
pushed the cover far enough away so she could put out two paws.
“I’ll soon have it all the way off now!” thought the black cat.
She gave one more hard shove and then, to her delight, the cover slid
away from the hole. There was room for Blackie to jump out.
She found herself on the flat tin roof of the house. On either side
were the tin roofs of other houses in the brick row. It was like one
long, big roof.
“Well, I’m out, anyhow!” said Blackie to herself. “That is something.
It’s an adventure, a real, truly adventure! I wonder what will happen
to me next?”