Cats have nine lives, so everybody says. Certainly, they go through more disasters than any other animal, and have more hair-breadth escapes. I have seen cats fall from the top of a house, and get up, and run away as if nothing had happened. That is, you will say, because they always alight on their feet. Perhaps there may be something in this; be that as it may, I am about to relate to you the adventures of a cat, which are as wonderful as they are true. I wish you could have seen her picture; she seemed as if she were entering into conversation with her mistress. And so she did in her way; she could purr when she was happy, and mew when she wanted anything. But more than this, she could show by her looks, that she understood a good deal the old lady said to her. She was a good old creature, this old lady, and she loved her cat, because she had nobody else to love, and her cat loved her; and well she might, for the old lady made a pet of her. She fed her every morning from her own table, with new roll and new milk; then for dinner she would have cooked for her a little kidney, or some other savory morsel. At tea time, puss used to stand with her feet on the elbow of the old lady’s chair, and many a nice bit did she receive during that meal, with a saucer of milk before the tea things were taken away. Then she had a nice bed. A cushion stuffed with wool, by day to repose herself upon, and for night she had a little wicker basket with a hole to creep in at; there she curled herself so snugly, that many a poor creature would have envied her. In the morning she used to run up stairs, the moment the servant came down, and mew at her mistress’s door till she was let in; and there she would stop with her till she was dressed, turning her tail and rubbing against her mistress’s garments, till she came down stairs, as much as to say, I am glad to see you this morning. But it was not always so with Miss Puss, I assure you: she had seen many adventures, and had many escapes. Few cats had gone through more troubles than she. I will tell you one of the events of her life. I think the story will please you. Well, you must know that Mogette, for that was her name, was, what is called a stable-cat; that is, a cat kept in the stable to look after the rats, that they might not eat the horses’ corn. Mogette once had five little kittens; and pretty little things they were, and fond enough she was of them. She thought too, she had secured them all from danger by hiding them in a hole in the hay-loft; which she had lined with hay to make it nice and warm. She never left her young ones except she was very hungry; and then only a few minutes, just to keep herself from starving. She would then return, and purr fondly over her kittens, showing how much she loved them.