I was on the top of the most tottering part of the pile one afternoon, when I saw a pair of bead-like eyes, and--yes, I could swear to it--a torn ear. But before I could spring to the ground they had vanished behind the corn-chest. This was how it came about that when the Captain's room was cosiest, and he and his friends were kindest, I used to steal away from luxuries which are dear to every fibre of my constitution, and pat hastily down to the dirty hole, where Terence accumulated old rubbish and misused and mislaid valuables--in the wild hope that I might hear, smell, or see the ragged-eared enemy of my peace. What hours I have wasted, now blinking with sleep, now on the alert at sounds like the revelries of mocking mice. When I say that I have even risked wet feet, on a damp afternoon, to get there--every cat will understand how wild must have been the infatuation! I tried to reason myself out of it. "Toots," I would say, "you banished him from your master's room, and you have probably banished him from Terence's. Why pursue the matter farther? So pitiful an object is unworthy of your revenge." "Very true," I would reply to myself, "but I want a turn in the air. I'll just step down as far as the saddle-room once more, and make myself finally comfortable by looking behind the old barrel. I don't think I went quite round it." There is no delusion so strong when it besets you, or so complete a failure in its results--as the hope of getting relief from an infatuation by indulging it once more. It grows worse every time. One day I was stealing away as usual, when I caught my master's eye with a peculiar expression in it. He was gnawing his moustaches too. I am very fond of him, and I ran back to the chair and looked up and mewed, for I wanted to know what was the matter. "You're a curious cat, Toots," said he; "but I suppose you're only like the rest of the world. I did think you did care a little bit for me. It's only the cream, is it, old fellow? As a companion, you prefer Terence? Eh? Well, off with you!" But I need hardly say that I would not leave him. It was no want of love for him that led me to the saddle-room. I was not base enough to forget that he had been my friend in need, even if he had been less amiable to me since. All that evening I lay on his breast and slept. _But I dreamt of the mouse!_ The next morning he went out riding. "He will not miss me now," thought I. "I will devote the morning to hunting through that wretched room inch by inch, for the last time. It will satisfy me that the mouse is not there, and it really is a duty to try and convince myself of this, that I may be cured of an infatuation which causes annoyance to so excellent a master." I hurried off as rapidly as befitted the vigour of the resolution, and when I got into the saddle-room I saw the mouse. And when the mouse saw me he fled like the wind.