I wanted a piece of plain lean beef, minced for preference, or shredded, but I knew cooks didn't like setting the mincing-machine in motion '_for a cat!_' so I supposed I should not get it, though I knew Auntie May had ordered it for me. It is funny how people, inferior people, think a cat can eat anything. Auntie May always takes in the butcher by not allowing the cook at home to send for 'pieces for cats.' If you mention that it's for a cat, she says, the butcher or the fishmonger always wraps up the meat or fish in newspaper, she has noticed that particularly. I wished she would go into the kitchen and blow up that cook. She was so bothered about Beatrice that she was not herself, and seemed to have forgotten me, in spite of her loving words when she came across me on the stairs or anywhere. Beatrice had massage, and she knew how it was done and she gave me some, which relieved the pain a little. She used to rub my stomach gently for half-an-hour together, and when I at last got well she was firmly persuaded that she had cured me. I knew better. It was Tom. Tom never took much notice of me, but once when he was leaning over Beatrice's bed she told him that I was not well. 'Poor brute,' said he, 'I should like to know how it could be well! Fed on messes and deprived of exercise! No dog could thrive on a regimen like that, and I suppose a cat is put together something after the same fashion.' 'But,' said Beatrice, 'how can he have exercise, Tom? They tell me that there were two degrees of frost the night before last, and the garden is a mush, and the grass all white with rime!' 'No matter, that's what he wants. Look at him!' I had risen and gone across to the window to try to signify to Them that I agreed with Tom, who added, 'The poor little beggar knows what is good for him.' 'It isn't good for him to wet his little silver feet,' said Beatrice. 'I bet you it wouldn't hurt him. Be as good as a Beecham's pill to the little fellow,' said Tom, who was getting quite excited over his idea. I was leaping about, alternately rubbing myself against the window and then against his knee. 'Look here, Beatrice, I'll take him out. I'll take the responsibility.' 'Do what you like, Tom, but whatever you do don't let May catch you.' 'May is in the dark room, developing some photos. Come on, you kid!' He lifted me as nicely as Auntie May could; his hands were enormous, and one of them seemed to swallow me all up, and hiding me under the lapel of his coat, he slunk downstairs with me, chuckling all the time. He opened the hall door, carried me across the gravel, which was soaking, and dropped me on to the lawn.