After I had slain and eaten one mouse, I felt every inch a Tom. I declined to lie any more in my mother's arms. No more milk for me; blood, and only blood, was my motto, and I meant it, too. When I was a well-grown cat of nine months old my mother introduced me to her mistress's house, and I became, for a time, a house-cat. I cannot say, however, that I liked the change. The lady of the dwelling was, they told me, exceedingly good and pious, went twice to church on Sunday, and read prayers morning and evening; but, sad to say, she never had studied feline economy. "If cats can't find mice to eat," she used to say, "they ought to starve." My mother told me that this was something like asking a person to make bricks without straw. My mother was very learned. Well, one evening--and I had been starving all day, and was dreadfully hungry and too faint to watch for mice--I happened to stroll into the pantry, and there I found such a nice, nice dish of cream. Luscious! But what a thrashing I got five minutes afterwards--I wasn't hungry for a week. Then the hunger came on again worse than ever, and I stole again. I couldn't help it, really. Then I was called a nasty, thieving brute, and got blamed many times when quite innocent. There is Briddy with the broom again. She hasn't forgiven me for that herring yet, and I can swear it wouldn't have kept for another day. Besides, what do I care if it was for Master Fred's breakfast? Briddy had no business to be upstairs trying on missus's Sunday bonnet, and the kitchen-door wide open. She thinks I don't see all her capers, and her opening drawers, and keeking into cupboards, and examining this, that, and t'other, when her missus is out. But lying on the top of that wall I can see a great deal more than I trouble to tell of. But Briddy blamed me for eating those two new-laid eggs that the baker brought. She "just laid them down outside in the strawberry-basket, m'm, for one minute; and when she turned again, la, m'm, they was broke and eaten, they was!" She forgot to mention how the baker crumpled her cap, though; and she didn't tell how she was all over flour, and had to brush herself from top to toe when the bell rang. But, mind you, it wasn't _me_ that stole the eggs. I would confess at once if it was; for what could a couple of paltry new-laid eggs add to the weight of crime I have been guilty of in my day? Why, nothing. But Dr Ricket's jackdaw took the eggs, for I saw him hop on to the wall, and he gave a look down, first, with one side of his head, at Briddy and the baker, then, with the other side of his head, to the eggs; then down he went, and it was all over in a moment--I mean the eggs were. Just like Briddy, blaming me for that piece of cold pork. Mind you, I don't say I wouldn't have taken it had I got the chance, but I didn't. "That beautiful piece of pork gone next, m'm; and I never can keep that cat out. And whatever shall I do, m'm?"