Tom had a cat who was so white that he named her Snow. He loved Snow
and thought her the best cat in the world, but she would not come when
she was called.
One day Snow went and played in the coal-bin, and when she came out she
was quite black.
“See, Mother,” said Tom: “Snow cannot be Snow now, for she is black.
What shall I name her?”
“You might name her Soot!” said his mother.
So he named Snow Soot. Snow did not care, and Soot did not care, but
neither of them came when she was called.
One day Snow saw a tin pot on the shed floor, and Soot thought there
might be cream in it; and Snow went to see, and Soot fell in, and it
was green paint, and when she came out she was all green.
“See, Mother,” said Tom. “My cat is not white now, so she cannot be
Snow, and she is not black, so she cannot be Soot. What shall I name
her now?”
“You might name her Grass,” said his mother, “till you have washed her;
but I would wash her soon if I were you.”
[Illustration]
So, Tom named the cat Grass. Snow did not care, and Soot did not care,
and Grass did not care, but none of them came when they were called.
“How can I wash her,” asked Tom, “if she will not come when she is
called?”
“Let me try!” said his mother. So she called, “Puss! Puss! Puss!” and
the cat came running as fast as she could.
“Why-ee!” said Tom. “I think her name must be Puss.”
“I think so, too,” said his mother.