At this time of year the nights were more interesting than the days, and she was only sorry that her dear Miss Harvey did not agree with her as to how a night should be spent. Miss Harvey seemed to think that all cats ought to be in bed at a certain hour, like people, whereas every cat knows that so much goes on at night one hates to miss that it is hard to be forced to stay in the house. Sally spent a great deal of time sleeping by day. That was the sensible way. To race about until one was tired and then take a long nap. And these naps could be taken at noon when it was too hot to be out-of-doors. But even though Sally was closed in at night, there was a great deal going on which she could enjoy. There were concerts given by her cat friends, and there was the wonderful moonlight that made it so bright out-of-doors, and there was the excitement of the sound of the scurrying of small feet through the walls and the thought that perhaps one could catch another mouse. She agreed with her ancestress, Martha Furbush-Tailby, about these things, and liked her verses on the subject. [Illustration] How can one ever sleep at night, When mice are scampering through the walls, And other cats long for a fight, And give their piercing, shrill cat-calls? How can one ever sleep at night, When the great moon is round and bright? Long naps by day, I like that best. When the great sun is hot and bright, That seems the time to take a rest, After a long and strenuous night. It would be strange to live by rule, As children do who go to school. Sometimes Sally would go into the room where all the books were, and Miss Winifred had her writing-desk and her typewriter. Sally would sit patiently by her mouse-hole and Miss Winifred would sit by her typewriter with her hands in her lap, for it sometimes seemed to be as hard to catch ideas as to catch a mouse, and then suddenly Miss Winifred’s fingers would fly over the keys and the black writing would come out on the paper. Sally had many ideas herself, in fact she was never at a loss for them. She wished she could write on the typewriter, and once, when Miss Winifred had left it uncovered with a sheet of paper in it, she had walked over the keys, but she could not make it write. She wanted to write a letter to dear Miss Harvey to tell her how she loved her. Of course Miss Harvey must know in part how she felt, for she so often put her paws around her neck and pressed her face against hers, but a letter could tell more. So one day when Miss Winifred had left a sheet of typewriting paper on her desk, Sally skipped onto it. She looked down and saw that the marks of her paws were plainly to be seen. This was what the footprints said: DEAR MISS HARVEY: