“I am not so sure of that,” said the cat. “I think I have a good many reasons for being quite the contrary; the Countess’s cat has cream and buttered crumpets for breakfast, and sleeps on a beautiful soft cushion all night, and all day, too, if she likes it; and just look what a dull life of it I lead here! And I have nothing but the hearth to lie upon, and nothing for breakfast but milk and brown bread!” “And you ought to be thankful you can get that,” cried the owl, quite angrily. “I can tell you what, Mrs. Puss, I have seen more of the world than you have, and I just say this for your comfort--if you could see how some poor cats live, you would be glad enough of your present condition.” “Humph!” muttered the cat, “I really don’t see how _you_ have contrived to see so much of the world, sitting as you do in a tree all day. I should think that the magpie ought to know something of life, after the high society she has lived in; and I _do_ say it’s a shame that one cat should have buttered crumpets and cream for breakfast, just because she happens to live in a palace, while another has only brown sop, because she happens to live in a cottage!” “But suppose,” replied the owl, “that some other cat, who lives in a cellar, and never gets anything to eat, except what she can pick up in the gutters, should take it into her head to say, ‘What a shame it is that some cats should have nice, snug cottages over their heads, and warm hearths to sit by, and bread and milk for breakfast, while I am obliged to live in this horrid, cold cellar, and never know how to get a mouthful?’” But the cat could not believe him. “My dear Mr. Owl,” she said, “you can’t really mean that there are any such poor cats in the world. I am sure that the magpie, with all her experience of life, would have told me about it, if it were really so. You must be mistaken.” The magpie was, by this time, very tired of such a long silence, and she broke in with:-- “You will excuse me, my worthy friend, but really you do sit there so, day after day, blinking in the sun, without a soul to speak to, that I don’t wonder at your taking very strange fancies into your head. I can only say that, during the whole of my residence in the Palace of the Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg, my late respected mistress, I never came in contact with any cat in the condition you are pleased to mention, and _I_ should know something of the world, I think.” “Well,” said the owl quietly, “I will not dispute your ladyship’s knowledge of the world, but I strongly advise our friend, Mrs. Puss, to remain contented at home, and not try to improve her fortune by going into the town. People should learn to know when they are well off.”