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KITTYBOY'S CHRISTMAS
AMY E. BLANCHARD
Illustrated by Ida Waugh
Philadelphia George W. Jacobs & Co. 1898
Copyright by George W. Jacobs & Co. 1898
Kittyboy was lost. It was an evident fact. He stood on the corner of the alley which led into a wide street to which he had been chased by an aggressive dog, and with every hair bristling, looked around for a friendly door, but they were all shut closely; and the snow was beginning to fall, in an uncertain way, just a flake here and there, displaying exquisitely perfect crystals on the stone steps and the brick pavement, then melting away very slowly.
Kittyboy tucked his four small paws neatly under him, and crouched in a corner, once in a while giving a plaintive little "meow," which no one noticed, if any one heard. Yet, after all, Kittyboy's losing of himself was not such a dreadful thing, for he was always being kicked aside as a troublesome beast, even before his little mistress, Annie Brady, was sent away to a Home, being considered by her uncle's family in the light of a nuisance, quite as great as Kittyboy himself. Nevertheless, in spite of his rather unpleasant experiences in the world, Kittyboy was full of a happy confidence in humanity scarcely to be expected. So, presently seeing a figure coming up the street, he rose from his compact attitude and ran along by the railing of an area, rubbing his sides against the narrow bars, and finally followed the figure up the broad steps; then, as the latch-key was turned in the door, he saw his opportunity, and slipped in.
It was rather late; eleven o'clock or more, and getting colder every minute. The house was very quiet, no one astir anywhere; a light, however, was burning in one room, where a warm fire blazed in the open grate, the sight of which so delighted Kittyboy that he began to purr contentedly. The light, now turned up, showed more distinctly what manner of person it was whom Kittyboy had followed: an elderly man, with keen, sharp eyes; he was somewhat portly, was well dressed, and brisk in his movements. Kittyboy's little black form, snuggled in one corner, where he sat blinking at the fire, was not noticed by this other occupant of the room, who, lighting a cigar, sat down by a table, stretched out his legs comfortably, and unfolded the evening paper.
Presently, the sharp sound of a coal dropping on the polished hearth disturbed Kittyboy's nap, and he jumped up, with visions of whips cracking over his head, and gave a leap away from the fire. The sharp noise also attracted the attention of the reader, who looked over the top of his newspaper to see four little furry feet daintily stepping across the rug.
"What are you doing here! Get out, cat!" came an exclamation in so much milder language than that to which Kittyboy was accustomed, that he considered it in the light of an overture, and springing up on the arm of the chair, in which this new acquaintance was sitting, he proceeded to play with the newspaper, patting the two sides, with ears very much forward, and an alert look on the wise little face, as if in momentary expectation of seeing a mouse jump out from the folds of the sheet.
The very audacity of the performance tickled the man's fancy. "You impudent little beast," he said; "how did you get in here, anyhow? Aha! I know. I believe I saw you as I came up the steps. You must have slipped in behind me. But this will never do; you will have to get out again. No cats allowed in my house."
For answer, Kittyboy began to rub his head against the arm nearest him, purring softly.
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