It must have been the middle of the night when a loud scream awoke me, and they both rushed out of the bedroom, saying, "It is a mouse! It walked over the bed!" Before they lighted the gas I had pounced upon my prey and finished it. Miss Eleanor took a cloth and pulled the mouse out of my mouth and threw it out of the window. I was real mad with them both, and got up on the table, where I never was allowed to sit, and knocked down a beautiful little basket that Miss Milly kept flosses in. The three parts of the basket separated, and all the little bags and balls rolled about on the floor. I poked them under chairs and in corners, and at last my mistresses were obliged to go to bed, leaving me with my playthings. The moonlight favored me, and I not only chased the bags and balls, but I tried to chase the moonbeams. I caught the playthings, but never the moonbeams, and I wondered why. The next day they talked seriously to me, but I did not care one bit. I washed my face all the time they were talking, and ran under the bed when they wanted to comb me. I chewed the red bow they had tied on my collar till it was black, and it tasted horrid. They did not scold me, for they were afraid I had poisoned myself with the red dye. Miss Eleanor found in her book an antidote, and Miss Milly gave me the dose. She had a hard time of it, for I spit out the pellets as fast as she gave them to me. That did provoke her, for I knew how to swallow them as well as a child would know. She took me, and, opening my mouth, she dropped them down my throat and held my mouth till they were down. I coughed and fought to get them up, but it was of no use. When Miss Milly was determined on a thing it just had to be done. I lived through that scare, and have chewed ribbons of all colors since then without harm except to the ribbon. It was very naughty, I know; but if I got mad, I would chew up my ribbon to provoke them. Another wickedness to record. Like all young cats, I loved to run away. This was before I was stolen that Christmas time I have already written of. Every day I would go out in the yard and hide, and I now remember with great thankfulness how wonderfully I was spared. Poor cats disappear, leaving no trace behind, and I am fortunate not to have been one of them, and I understand why my mistress was afraid to trust me out of her sight. I would hide on the ledge of the fence in the next yard and then peep over to hear them call me. They would scrape two knives together to call me in to dinner, when we were visiting or when we had the range of the house. Of course I responded promptly to the call, as cats, like children, are always ready for a square meal. But of late I had discovered their little game. There was no dinner; they scraped knives to get me in. They deceived me at first, but not for long.