I never saw such a lot of nice dishes and beautiful things on them. Even the dessert had not been forgotten. There was such a big bunch of celery. I thought it was a tree, and that I could run up in it. At last, after the inward cravings after that fowl had torn me almost to pieces, and my desire to be polite and good had been almost upset by the inclination to rush in and devour right and left, they carved up the turkey, and I had so many tidbits I did not know which to eat first, the head or the tail, for I had both of them. I did do justice to that dinner, and, like a child, as I did not know when to leave off, they had to take it from me. I then laid down and slept so sound that I had the nightmare. I thought I was beset by poor relations: that an aunt was sitting on my head, an uncle on my tail, and cousins on my stomach, and they pressed me so hard that I yelled out loudly. Miss Eleanor came to me, saying, "What is the matter?" Of course I could not tell her, but I did not want to have such visitors again. I would rather give them my dinner. We had a very light supper, and my mistress promised me the sequel to my Thanksgiving the next day. Indeed, the sequel beat the beginning, and I thought how nice it would be always to live on sequels. They took a big platter, and stood it on a newspaper on the floor. In it was the carcass of the turkey and all the giblets. Miss Milly said I should, for once, have a real low-minded junket. And I did. It was like a bone-yard, with the remains all around me. I felt so generous that I would willingly have said "come" to all the poor relations in the world. They would be welcome to all the bones I had picked and all of the quack. It was lovely, but I was greased from head to foot. When tired, I seated myself on the bones, in the midst of the carcass, and my fur was glued together in places. The work of cleaning me was something fearful. I was as patient as I could be, though I could not help jerking away a few times. Miss Milly said, "You do not look like my lovely Daisy," and it was many days before I looked like myself again. That evening my mistress let me look at the photograph of our nice young friend. I thought it lovely and a very good likeness. I gave a little purr at it, but I suppose a gobble or a crow would have been more appropriate. She is a very dear friend to my mistress, and I am very fond of her. When she comes in, I always keep awake to hear her talk. She is very fascinating. I do not think she cares very much for cats. I suppose it is because she does not know much about them. One thing I do know: she would be kind to them, for when I am left alone with her, she smiles at me and says, "Daisy, you are a nice cat," just the same as if my mistress were here.