Now the day was close at hand when the cat should have been sent to the show, and the old gentleman was getting more and more uneasy, for the grey cat lay upon the rug all day and never moved, and its ribs could almost be seen through its side, so thin had it grown. And oddly enough the old gentleman, who had never cared for any one or anything in his life except himself, began to feel very unhappy, not only because of not getting the money, but because he did not like to think of losing the cat itself. He sent for his friend who had first told him about the Cat Show, and asked his advice, but his friend could not tell him what to do with it. “Well, well,” he said, “this is a bad business, for I have told every one that you are going to exhibit a most extraordinarily beautiful cat, and now this poor creature is really fit for nothing but the knacker’s yard. I think, maybe, some naturalist would give you a good price for its skin, as it is so very uncommon, and if I were you I should kill it at once, for if it dies a natural death its skin won’t be worth a brass farthing.” At these words the grey cat lifted its head, and looked straight into the old gentleman’s face, as if it could understand, and for the first time for many a long year, the old gentleman felt a feeling of pity in his heart, and was angry with his friend for his suggestion. “I won’t have it killed,” he cried; “why, I declare, though it does seem absurd, I have lived with this creature for a year, and I feel as if it were my friend, and if it would only get well and sit up on the hearthrug, I shouldn’t mind about the money one bit!” At this his friend was greatly astonished, and went away wondering, while the old gentleman sat by the fire and watched the cat lying panting on the rug. “Poor pussy, poor old pussy!” he said, “it is a pity that you can’t speak and tell me what you want. I am sure I would give it to you.” Just as he spoke there came a noise outside, and he heard a mewing, and looking through the window he saw the same thin ugly brown cat that had come there last Christmas, and it looked as thin and wretched as ever. When she heard the sound the grey cat stood up on her tottering feet and tried to walk to the window. This time the old gentleman did not drive it away, but looked at it, and almost felt sorry for it; it looked almost as thin and ill as his own grey puss. “You are an ugly brute,” he said, “and I don’t want you always hanging about; still, maybe you would be none the worse for a little milk now, and it might make you look better.” So he opened the window a little, and then he shut it and then he opened it again, and this time the brown cat crawled into the room, and went straight to the hearthrug to the grey puss. There was a big saucer of milk on the hearthrug, and the brown cat began to lap it at once, and the old gentleman never stopped it.