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      “No,” said the Woman, braiding up her hair, “eat it quickly and I will ever be grateful to you.”

      Cat made one jump and caught the little mouse, and the Woman said, “A hundred thanks. Even the First Friend is not quick enough to catch little mice as you have done. You must be very wise.”

      That very moment and second, O Best Beloved, the Milk-pot that stood by the fire cracked in two pieces—ffft—because it remembered the bargain she had made with the Cat, and when the Woman jumped down from the footstool—lo and behold!—the Cat was lapping up the warm white milk that lay in one of the broken pieces.

      “O my Enemy and Wife of my Enemy and Mother of my Enemy,” said the Cat, “it is I; for you have spoken three words in my praise, and now I can drink the warm white milk three times a day for always and always and always. But still I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.”

      Then the Woman laughed and set the Cat a bowl of the warm white milk and said, “O Cat, you are as clever as a man, but remember that your bargain was not made with the Man or the Dog, and I do not know what they will do when they come home.”

      “What is that to me?” said the Cat. “If I have my place in the Cave by the fire and my warm white milk three times a day I do not care what the Man or the Dog can do.”

      That evening when the Man and the Dog came into the Cave, the Woman told them all the story of the bargain while the Cat sat by the fire and smiled. Then the Man said, “Yes, but he has not made a bargain with me or with all proper Men after me.” Then he took off his two leather boots and he took up his little stone axe (that makes three) and he fetched a piece of wood and a hatchet (that is five altogether), and he set them out in a row and he said, “Now we will make our bargain. If you do not catch mice when you are in the Cave for always and always and always, I will throw these five things at you whenever I see you, and so shall all proper Men do after me.”

      “Ah,” said the Woman, listening, “this is a very clever Cat, but he is not so clever as my Man.”

      The Cat counted the five things (and they looked very knobby) and he said, “I will catch mice when I am in the Cave for always and always and always; but still I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.”

      “Not when I am near,” said the Man. “If you had not said that last I would have put all these things away for always and always and always; but I am now going to throw my two boots and my little stone axe (that makes three) at you whenever I meet you. And so shall all proper Men do after me!”

      Then the Dog said, “Wait a minute. He has not made a bargain with me or with all proper Dogs after me.” And he showed his teeth and said, “If you are not kind to the Baby while I am in the Cave for always and always and always, I will hunt you till I catch you, and when I catch you I will bite you. And so shall all proper Dogs do after me.”

      “Ah,” said the Woman, listening, “this is a very clever Cat, but he is not so clever as the Dog.”

      Cat counted the Dog’s teeth (and they looked very pointed) and he said, “I will be kind to the Baby while I am in the Cave, as long as he does not pull my tail too hard, for always and always and always. But still I am the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.”

      “Not when I am near,” said the Dog. “If you had not said that last I would have shut my mouth for always and always and always; but now I am going to hunt you up a tree whenever I meet you. And so shall all proper Dogs do after me.”

      Then the Man threw his two boots and his little stone axe (that makes three) at the Cat, and the Cat ran out of the Cave and the Dog chased him up a tree; and from that day to this, Best Beloved, three proper Men out of five will always throw things at a Cat whenever they meet him, and all proper Dogs will chase him up a tree. But the Cat keeps his side of the bargain too. He will kill mice and he will be kind to Babies when he is in the house, just as long as they do not pull his tail too hard. But when he has done that, and between times, and when the moon gets up and night comes, he is the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him. Then he goes out to the Wet Wild Woods or up the Wet Wild Trees or on the Wet Wild Roofs, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.

      Pussy can sit by the fire and sing,

      Pussy can climb a tree,

      Or play with a silly old cork and string

      To’muse herself, not me.

      But I like Binkie my dog, because

      He knows how to behave;

      So, Binkie’s the same as the First Friend was,

      And I am the Man in the Cave.

      Pussy will play man-Friday till

      It’s time to wet her paw

      And make her walk on the window-sill

      (For the footprint Crusoe saw);

      Then she fluffles her tail and mews,

      And scratches and won’t attend.

      But Binkie will play whatever I choose,

      And he is my true First Friend.

      Pussy will rub my knees with her head

      Pretending she loves me hard;

      But the very minute I go to my bed

      Pussy runs out in the yard,

      And there she stays till the morning-light;

      So I know it is only pretend;

      But Binkie, he snores at my feet all night,

      And he is my Firstest Friend!

      THE WOMAN WHO HATED CATS, by Margaret St. John Bathe

      She hated their expressive faces and their eyes that changed shape and color. She hated their mysterious appearances and their inexplicable disappearances. As a child she screamed herself into convulsions if one so much as blinked at her. When she grew up, of course, she learned not to scream; yet she could never learn to control the prickling sensation that attacked her spine whenever a cat stopped in its tracks and stared at her.

      For that is exactly what all cats did—they stared at her.

      It was strange that she who hated cats should so attract their interest. It was no ordinary interest such as a cat displays when it desires a saucer of milk; they were not hungry, stray cats that regarded her so intently; they were plump, well-fed feline citizens of a highly respectable neighborhood. They had no need to ‘meow’ at strange women for sustenance.

      She shooed them away but they were not frightened. Rather they took the sound to be indicative of a desire to be friendly and they would bound skittishly in front of her, twining their soft, almost boneless bodies, about her legs. Then it was difficult not to scream. Even though she was middle-aged and her childhood was now an almost forgotten interlude.

      She hated them more as she grew older; yet the more she hated them, the more they loved her. She was pursued by cats; gray cats, ginger cats, black cats and tabbies—the legend of the Pied Piper lived again in the respectable neighborhood. The people who put their cats out at night knew where they would go and the people who called their cats in knew where they had been.

      She would wake in the morning and find cats on the window-sill staring in at her, ‘meowing’ softly. When she opened the door to bring in the milk there would be cats on the doorstep. Before she could prevent them they would dart into the house and hide in dark corners until she had stopped searching for them. Later, as she busied herself with domestic tasks, they would jump out at her, landing on her shoulders, rubbing their sleek faces against her neck.

      In despair she wrote to a psychologist.

      “Please,” she begged, “Will you tell me how I can overcome my horror of cats?”

      The psychologist replied tersely— “Adopt a kitten.”

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