"What were you doing in a cage?" said the Crow.
"I am a singer, you know."
"Just sing for me, then," said the Crow.
The Canary sang. The Crow, with his head tilted to one side, listened and wondered.
"You call this singing?" he exclaimed. "Ha! Ha! Ha! How foolish were your masters to feed you for such singing. If they fed anyone, why should it not have been a real bird like me? Just a while ago I cawed and that rascal Vaska almost fell off the fence. That's what I call singing."
"I know Vaska, a most awful beast! Many a time he softly crept to my cage, his green eyes burning, his claws out."
"To some, he seems fierce, but not toothers. That he is sly, is true, but there is nothing fierce about him. However, we can talk about this later, for somehow I cannot yet believe that you are a real bird."
"But, Aunty, I am a bird. I am a real bird. All canaries are birds, you know."
"Very well. We shall see. How do you expect to make a living?"
"I don't need very much, really. A few seeds, a bit of sugar and a bit of toast. That is all."
"What a lady you are! A bit of sugar indeed! You can do without sugar. As for seeds, those might be found. On the whole, I like you. Do you want to live with me? I have a splendid nest in the birch tree."
"Thank you. But how about the sparrows?"
"If you live with me, no one will dare totouch you. Not only the sparrows, but even sly Vaska knows my character well. I don't like fooling."
The Canary at once took courage and flew off with the Crow. Yes, the nest was fine. If there were only some toast and a wee bit of sugar!
SO the Canary and the Crow lived together in one nest. Although the Crow liked to grumble occasionally, on the whole she was not unkind. Her chief fault was that she envied everybody and very often considered herself abused.
"Will you tell me why the foolish hens are better than I? Just see how they are cared for, fed and watched," she would complain to the Canary. "Then look at the pigeons. Of what use are they? andstill look at the handfuls of oats they get. They are so foolish. Yet whenever I come near I am chased from every corner. Is this just? And I'm scolded, too. Haven't you noticed that I'm nicer than other birds and much prettier, too? However, one should not say such things about oneself. Don't you think so?"
The Canary agreed with everything.
"Yes, you are a big bird," she would say.
"Here you are. They keep parrots in cages and look after them. Can you see why the foolish parrot is better than I? He only knows how to scream and chatter and no one can really understand what he says."
"I know. We had a parrot that every one grew tired of," said the Canary.
"Yes, one can think of many birds that live, no one knows why. For instance, thestarling; it comes like a mad thing no one knows whence, stays through the summer, and flies away again. There are also the swallows, the bluebirds and nightingales, but one can't really count all this rubbish. There isn't a single really desirable bird. Why, just as soon as there is a cold breeze, all of them seem to fly away, the Lord knows where."
In reality, the Crow and the Canary did not understand each other. The Canary could not understand a life of freedom; the Crow could not understand a life of captivity.
"Aunty, has no one ever thrown you a bit of seed," wondered the Canary, "not a single grain?"
"How foolish you are to talk of seeds, when I have to dodge sticks and stones. People are very cruel."
With this, the Canary could neveragree, because people had always been kind to her. She thought that the Crow imagined these things, but the Canary was soon to see the cruelty of people. Once, perched on a fence, she heard a heavy stone whizz over her very head. Some school boys walking past the fence saw the Crow and couldn't resist throwing a stone at her.
"Now, have you seen for yourself?" asked the Crow, climbing upon the roof. "People are always like that."
"Perhaps you have done something to annoy them, Aunty."
"Nothing at all. They are just cruel and all of them hate me."
The Canary felt very sorry for the poor Crow whom no one loved. It must be very hard to live under such circumstances.
On the whole, there were many enemies.For instance, Vaska, with his oily eyes, watching the birds and always feigning sleep. The Canary saw with her own eyes how he caught a young inexperienced sparrow; one could only see the feathers flying, and hear the bones crackling. Horrible! Horrible! Then the hawks, too; very fine to watch them as they sail up into the air, but suddenly you see them, like a heavy stone dropping to the ground, and before you know it, a chick is in their claws.
All this the Canary saw. The Crow, however, was not afraid of either cats or hawks. She often had a notion to have a taste of a young bird herself. At first, the Canary could not believe this, but she really did see this with her own eyes. A flock of sparrows were chasing the Crow, chattering and screaming.
"Let her go! Let her go!" screamedthe sparrows, beside themselves, flying over the Crow's nest in a frenzy. "This is awful! This is real robbery!"
The Crow hid deep in her nest and the Canary saw with horror a bleeding sparrow, dead.
"Aunty, what are you doing?"
"Keep still!" said the Crow.
Her eyes were horrible. They seemed to burn. The Canary had to shut her own eyes for fear she would see the Crow gobbling up the poor little victim.
"Some day she may even eat me," thought the Canary.
Having satisfied her hunger, the Crow grew kinder and kinder. She cleaned her bill, perched comfortably and fell into a sweet slumber. The Canary noticed that the Crow was very greedy and not very particular as to what she ate.
Sometimes she would carry a piece of bread, a bit of decayed meat, or some leavings found in a dump hole. The dump hole the Crow liked best, but the Canary could never understand the pleasure of digging in such places.
In fact, it was hard to blame the Crow. She alone ate in one day food enough for twenty canaries. The Crow had only one care—food. Perched on some roof, she was always on the lookout for food.
When the Crow was too lazy to search for food, she would resort to slyness. If she saw a flock of sparrows tearing at something, she would fly right over to them, pretending she was just passing by, cawing with her whole might, "Caw! Caw! I'm busy! I'm busy!"
She would then swoop down, grab the booty, and that was the end of it.
"But it isn't a bit nice to take food away from others," once remarked the indignant Canary.
"Isn't it? But what if I am hungry?"
"Others are hungry, too," said the Canary.
"Well, let them look out for themselves. It is easy enough for you, the pets, cuddled in cages. We have to get our own food. You and the sparrows—how much do you need? A few grains and you are satisfied for the whole day."
SUMMER passed unnoticed. The sun seemed to grow colder, the day shorter. Rains began to fall. A cold wind blew. The Canary felt herself a most unfortunate bird, especially when it rained. But the Crow did not seem to mind it.
"What if it does rain? It will stop," said the Crow.
"But it is so cold, too cold, Aunty," said the Canary.
It was especially hard at night. The little wet Canary would shiver with cold and the Crow would scold at her.
"Oh, you baby! What will you do when the real frost comes and the snow falls?"
The Crow was puzzled. "What sort of bird is this that is afraid of rain, wind and cold?" And she began to doubt once more whether the Canary was a real bird, after all. "Surely she must be pretending."
"Truly, Aunty, I am a real bird," the Canary would assert with tears in her eyes, "even if I do feel cold sometimes."
"Look out, now! It always seems to me that you are only pretending to be a bird," said the Crow.
"Honestly, Aunty, I'm not pretending."
Sometimes the Canary would try to think about her future. Perhaps it would have been better to have stayed in the cage, after all. There it was warm and one always had plenty to eat.
Several times she flew up to the window, where her old cage hung. Two new canaries looked out at her and envied her.
"Oh, how cold it is!" pitifully piped the freezing Canary. "How I would like to be in there with you."
One morning the Canary looked out of the Crow's nest. She was astonished at the dreary sight. Over night, the ground had been covered with the first snow. Everything was white, but, saddest of all, the snow covered all the grains on which the Canary fed. There remained only the mountain ash berry, but she couldn't possiblyeat that! It was too sour! As for the Crow, she ate that, saying, "Very fine!"
After starving two whole days, the Canary was in despair.
"What is going to happen to me? I will die of hunger," thought the Canary.
The next day the Canary sat wondering when suddenly she saw coming into the garden the very same boys who had thrown stones at the Crow. They spread a net on the ground and covered it with very tasty bird seed then went away.
"These boys aren't so bad," said the happy Canary, looking at the seeds. "Look, Aunty, the boys have brought me some food."
"Very fine food, I must say," croaked the Crow. "Don't you dare stick your bill in there! Do you hear me! If you try to get that seed, you will be caught in the net."
"And what will happen then?" asked the Canary.
"Why, they will put you into a cage again," said the Crow.
The Canary grew thoughtful. She wanted food, but she did not want a cage. Of course, it was cold and at times there was little to eat. Still, life in freedom was better, especially when it did not rain. For several days the Canary was strong. But hunger was stronger. Finally she just had to yield to her longing for food. She was caught in the net.
"Help! Help!" piped the Canary pitifully. "I will never do it again. It is better to die of hunger than to live in a cage."
The Canary now thought that there was nothing in the whole world nicer than the Crow's nest. Of course, it was cold and occasionally one had no food. But therewas freedom. One could fly about wherever one pleased. She wept, waiting for the boys to come to put her into the cage. But as luck would have it, the Crow passed by that very moment and spied the Canary in difficulty.
"You are foolish," scolded the Crow. "Didn't I tell you not to touch those seeds?"
"Aunty, I'll never do it again."
The Crow was just in time. The boys were already on their way to fetch their victim. The Crow tore the net quickly with her beak. The Canary was free.
The boys chased the Crow, throwing sticks and stones and scolding her for some time.
"How nice it is to be free," chirped the glad Canary, finding herself once more in the Crow's nest.
"Of course, it's nice. You'd better takecare if you want to stay free," scolded the Crow.
The Canary, safe in the Crow's nest, started life anew. Never again did she complain of either cold or hunger.
One day, the Crow flew away in search of food and stayed all night in the field. When she returned she found the little Canary lying in the nest with her little legs up—cold and stiff.
The Crow tilted her head to one side and looking very closely at the Canary, she said:
"Well, I told you you were not a real bird."
TURKEY Gobbler awoke as usual before any one else. It was still dark. He woke up his wife and said:
"Am I not the wisest of all?"
Turkey Hen was not quite awake. She coughed and then answered:
"Oh, you are very wise. Khe! Khe! Khe! Who does not know that? Khe! Khe! Khe!"
"No, it isn't enough to say 'wisest of all,'" said Turkey Gobbler. "There are plenty of wise birds, but the wisest of all is one, and that is I."
"The wisest of all! Khe! Khe! Khe! The wisest of all! Khe! Khe! Khe!"
"That's right," said Turkey Gobbler.
A little cross, Turkey Gobbler added in a voice that other birds might hear:
"Do you know, I think that I am not respected enough."
"You only imagine that. Khe! Khe!"
Turkey Hen calmed him, at the same time smoothing her feathers that had ruffled over night.
"You only think that, for one could notimagine a wiser bird than you. Khe! Khe!"
"What about the Gander? Oh, I see everything. Of course, he is silent most of the time, never saying anything directly, but I feel that silently he does not respect me."
"Don't pay any attention to him," said Turkey Hen. "He isn't worth it. Khe! Khe! Haven't you noticed how foolish he is?"
"Any one can see that," said Turkey Gobbler. "It is written all over his face, 'Foolish Gander,' and nothing else. But it isn't really the Gander, for, after all, can one be angry with a fool? The Rooster, for instance. The most ordinary Rooster. Did you hear him scream at me the other day? He screamed so loudly that all the neighbors heard him. It seemed to me hewas saying I was foolish or something like that."
"How strange you are," said Turkey Hen, astonished. "Don't you know why Rooster screams?"
"Why?" asked Turkey Gobbler.
"Khe! Khe! Khe! It's very simple and everybody knows it. You're a Cock and he's a Cock. Only he is a very, very common Cock, while you are a real beyond-the-sea Indian Cock. That's why he screams with envy. Every bird wishes to be an Indian Cock. Khe! Khe!"
"But that's hard to be, mother. Ha! ha! ha! Some ambition for a common little Rooster to become a Turkey Gobbler! No, sir. That never can be!" said Turkey Gobbler.
Turkey Hen was a very modest, kind bird. She was always worried when Turkey Gobbler quarreled with anyone.
This morning, he was hardly awake when he was thinking with whom to pick a quarrel and fight. He was a restless bird, though not unkind. Turkey Hen was often hurt when other birds made sport of Turkey Gobbler, calling him, "Old Stuck-Up" or "Chatterbox" or "Empty-Head." They were partly right, of course. But then, there are no birds without faults. That's why it is pleasant to find in another bird even the tiniest shortcomings.
The birds, now awakened, proceeded from the poultry house into the barnyard, and at once there arose a horrible clatter. The hens made the most noise; they ran around the yard, they climbed on the kitchen windows, and they screamed, beside themselves,
"Cut-a-cut! Cut-a-cut! Cut-a-cut! We are hungry! Cook Matryona musteither be dead or she wants to starve us to death."
"Ladies and gentlemen, have patience!" remarked Gander, standing on one leg. "Look at me. I, too, am hungry, but I don't shout in the way you do. If I were to open my mouth and scream, 'Quack! Quack!' or louder, 'QUACK! QUACK! QUACK!'..."
Gander quacked so loudly that Cook Matryona awakened immediately.
"It's easy for him to talk of patience," grumbled a Duck. "His throat is like a megaphone. If I had a neck as long as his, and a bill as strong as his, I'd also preach patience. I would also have my food before any one else, and preach patience to the others. We know Master Gander's patience."
Rooster, supporting Duck in this, screamed, "Yes, it's easy for Gander totalk of patience. Who pulled out two of my finest tail feathers yesterday? It is dishonorable to grab hold of a bird's tail. Of course, we quarreled slightly and I won't deny that I intended to pick Gander's head, but then I was to blame, not my poor tail. Am I not right, ladies and gentlemen?"
Hungry birds, like hungry people, become unjust—just because they are hungry.
TURKEY Gobbler, through sheer pride, never scrambled for food like other birds. He always waited patiently for Matryona to chase some greedy bird away and to call him.
It was the same this morning. Turkey Gobbler strutted along the side of thefence, pretending to be looking for something.
"Khe! Khe! I am so hungry," complained Turkey Hen, stepping along behind her husband. "Cook Matryona has already strewn the oats and now, I think, the leftover cereal of yesterday is coming. Khe! Khe! Oh, how I do love cereal! I think I could eat nothing but cereal the rest of my life. I even dream of cereal sometimes."
Turkey Hen liked to complain when she was hungry and she demanded sympathy from Turkey Gobbler. Compared with other birds, she looked like an old woman, humping her back and coughing. She even walked with a broken gait, as if her legs didn't belong to her.
"Yes, it would be nice to have some cereal," said Turkey Gobbler, agreeing with her. "But a wise bird never scramblesfor food. Am I not right? If my master does not feed me, then I die of hunger. Just let him find another Turkey Gobbler like me!"
"There is not another like you," said Turkey Hen.
"Of course not," said her husband.
"In reality, cereal is nothing. It is not a question of cereal, but of Matryona. Am I not right? As long as there is Matryona there will be cereal. Everything in the world depends upon Matryona—oats, cereal, grains and crusts of bread."
In spite of these discussions, Turkey Gobbler began to feel the pangs of hunger. He became very sad indeed.
All the birds had been fed, and still Matryona did not call him. Could she have forgotten him? That would be no joke.
Then something happened whichcaused Turkey Gobbler to forget his hunger.
A young hen, walking near the barn, began to call, "Cut-a-cut! Cut-a-cut! Cut-a-cut!" All the other hens took up the call at once, screaming with all their might, "Cut-a-cut! Cut-a-cut!" Loudest of all was Rooster, of course, with his "Cock-a-doodle-doo! Who's there?"
Attracted by the noise, all the birds ran toward the barn. There they saw a most unusual sight. Close to the barn, in a hole, lay something gray and round and all covered with sharp needles.
"Just an ordinary stone," said one.
"It's moving," exclaimed Little Hen. "I also thought it was a stone, but it moved when I came close, and it seems to me that I saw eyes. Stones have no eyes, you know."
"A foolish hen can see anything if she is frightened," remarked Turkey Gobbler. "Perhaps it ... it ..."
He was interrupted by Gander, who screamed:
"It's a mushroom. I have seen mushrooms just like this, only they had no needles."
Everybody laughed loudly at the Gander.
"It looks more like a hat," someone ventured to say, but this remark, too, met with laughter.
"A hat has no eyes."
"Let us waste no time in empty conversation. Let us act," decided the Rooster for everybody. "Hey, you thing full of needles, you speak for yourself! What sort of beast are you? I like no fooling. Do you hear?"
As there was no answer, the Rooster felt insulted, and threw himself upon the unknownoffender. He tried to peck him once or twice but stepped aside, abashed.
"It is nothing but a huge pine cone," he said. "Nothing tasty about it. Would someone like to try?"
Everybody chattered, saying the first thing that occurred to him.
There was no end to the different opinions. Turkey Gobbler was the only silent one. All the others chattered while he listened to their foolishness. They clattered and chattered for a long time, until someone shouted:
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are wasting time, and needlessly tiring ourselves, when we have Turkey Gobbler with us. He knows everything."
"I do, indeed!" said Turkey Gobbler, spreading his tail and puffing out his red wattles.
"If you do, then tell us who is this strange creature."
"And if I don't want to tell you? Just refuse to tell you?" said Turkey Gobbler.
Then all the birds began to beg him to tell them.
"You are our wisest bird, Turkey Gobbler. Please tell us. It will cost you nothing."
Turkey Gobbler plumed himself for a time and finally said:
"Very well. I will. Yes, I will tell you. But first you must answer me—what do you think of me?"
"Who doesn't know? You are the wisest of all!" they answered in chorus. "Isn't there a saying, 'As wise as a Turkey?'"
"Then you do respect me?" asked Turkey Gobbler.
"Of course we do. All of us respect you."
Turkey Gobbler plumed himself some more, puffed up his red wattles, strutted around the strange beast three times and finally said:
"This is.... So you want to know what this is?"
"We do! Please tell us! Don't torture us any longer!" said the others.
"This ... but it is creeping!" said Turkey Gobbler.
The fowls felt like laughing at him when a giggle was heard and a thin little voice said:
"There is the wisest bird of all! He! He! He!" And from under the needles appeared a black snout and two tiny black eyes. The tiny black snout sniffed the air and said:
"Hello, everybody! Is it possible thatyou do not recognize Porcupine—Porcupine Gray? Pardon me ... but what a funny Turkey Gobbler you have! I really do not know how to say it politely ... but your Turkey Gobbler is stupid."
EVERYBODY was horrified at this insult that Porcupine hurled at Turkey Gobbler. Of course, Turkey Gobbler did say a foolish thing just now, but it does not mean that Porcupine has any right to insult him.
It is very rude to enter a house and then to insult the master. You must admit that a Turkey Gobbler is a very dignified and imposing bird. There is surely no comparison between him and a Gray Porcupine.
Suddenly, everybody sided with Turkey Gobbler and there arose a terrific clatter.
"Porcupine probably thinks that all of us are foolish," said Rooster, flapping his wings.
"He insulted all of us! If any one is foolish, it is surely the Porcupine himself," said Gander, stretching his neck. "I noticed that at once."
"How can mushrooms be foolish?" answered Porcupine.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are wasting time talking to him," shouted Rooster. "He will not understand us, anyway. If, instead, you, Mr. Gander, were to grab his needles on one side, and Master Gobbler and I on the other side, we would at once know who is the wiser, for you cannot hide brains under foolish needles."
"I am ready," replied Gander. "It would be better still if I were to grab hisneedles in the back and you, Master Rooster, pecked his snout. Then, ladies and gentlemen, it will be seen who is the wisest."
Turkey Gobbler was silent all this time. At first, he was overwhelmed by the Porcupine's impudence and he did not know what answer to make. Then Turkey Gobbler grew so angry, so angry that he was horrified at himself. His first wish was to throw himself upon the offender and tear him into tiny bits. Then would the world see and be convinced what a strict and serious bird a Turkey Gobbler is. He even started in Porcupine's direction, blowing himself up more and more, and just as he was about to throw himself upon Porcupine everybody began shouting and scolding the stranger. Turkey Gobbler stopped and waited patiently to see the end of it all.
When Rooster suggested that they grab Porcupine's needles and drag him in different directions, Turkey Gobbler stopped his ardor.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said he, "perhaps all this can be settled amicably. Yes, it seems to me there is a little misunderstanding here. Leave the whole thing to me."
"Very well. Let us wait," agreed the Rooster, unwillingly. He was eager to fight Porcupine. "I know nothing will come of it."
"This is my affair," answered Turkey Gobbler calmly. "Just stay around and hear what I say."
All the birds formed a ring around Porcupine and waited.
Turkey Gobbler walked around the stranger, coughed and said:
"Listen, Mr. Porcupine. Let us have aserious explanation. In general, I do not like domestic troubles."
"Heavens! How wise! How wise he is!" thought Turkey Hen, listening to her husband, silent with admiration.
"First of all, I want you to understand that you are in respectable, well-behaved society," said Turkey Gobbler, "and that means something. Yes, you may consider it an honor to get into our company."
"True! True!" shouted several.
"But this is between ourselves. The main thing is not ..." here Turkey Gobbler stopped, was silent a moment for better effect, then continued, "Yes, the main thing is—did you really think that we had no idea what a Porcupine was? I have no doubt that Gander was only joking when he took you for a mushroom. And I can say the same of what Rooster and theothers said. Am I not right, ladies and gentlemen?"
"You certainly are, Turkey Gobbler," shouted the fowls in a voice so loud, that poor Gray Porcupine tucked in her little black snout.
"Oh, how wise he is!" thought Turkey Hen, beginning to understand what her husband was driving at.
"You see, Master Porcupine," continued Turkey Gobbler, "we all like our little jokes. I will not speak for myself. Why not have a little joke? And as I see it, you, Mr. Porcupine, seem also to be of a merry disposition."
"And you guessed right," admitted Porcupine, once more showing his little black snout. "I have such a merry disposition that I cannot sleep at night. Many cannot stand that, but sleeping bores me."
"You will probably agree best with our Rooster, who crows like mad all night," said Turkey Gobbler.
Everybody suddenly became gay. They all felt Porcupine was there to complete their happiness.
Turkey Gobbler was triumphant at so cleverly getting out of an awkward situation caused by Porcupine's laughing in his face and calling him stupid.
"Now Mr. Porcupine," said Turkey Gobbler, winking, "confess that even you were joking when you said that I was not a wise bird."
"Of course, I was joking," said Porcupine, reassuring him. "I have a merry disposition. I love to joke."
"Yes, yes, I was quite sure of that. Ladies and gentlemen, have you heard him?" asked Turkey Gobbler.
"Of course, we did. No one could doubt it. He was joking."
Turkey Gobbler bent close to Porcupine's ear and whispered:
"I want to tell you a horrible secret. But only on one condition—don't breathe it to a soul. It is true ... I am a little ashamed to talk about myself ... but how can I help it? I am the wisest bird! At times, it even embarrasses me, but as the wise Russians say, 'You can't hide an awl in a sack.' Please not a word of this to anyone!"
IT was wonderful. It was wonderful that it happened every day. As soon as Cook placed the pot of milk and the earthenware oatmeal pan upon the stove, it would allbegin. At first, there was silence; then conversation.
"I am Little Milk."
"And I am Little Cereal."
At first, conversation was carried on in whispers. But gradually both Little Cereal and Little Milk would grow more and more excited.
"I AM LITTLE MILK!"
"AND I AM LITTLE CEREAL!"
The cereal was generally covered with an earthenware cover and she grumbled away in her pot like an old woman. When she grew angry, there came to the top a bubble that burst and said:
"Still, I am Little Cereal. Puff!!"
This boasting was offensive to Little Milk.
"My what a wonder! As if one had never seen oatmeal cereal before!" and Little Milk would grow more and moreexcited until rising to the top in a foam, she tried to get out from the pot. No sooner would Cook turn her head away than Little Milk would run all over the hot stove.
"Oh, this milk," complained Cook every time it happened. "No sooner do I take my eyes off it than it runs over."
"I can't help my fiery temper," would reply Little Milk, defending herself. "It doesn't make me happy to be angry and to hear the boastings of Cereal, 'I'm Cereal! I'm Cereal! I'm Cereal!' To see her sitting there in her pan and grumbling makes me angrier and angrier."
It happened sometimes that, in spite of the cover, Little Cereal would escape from her pan and creep along the stove, forever repeating:
"I'm Cereal! I'm Cereal! I'm Cereal! Z-h-h! Z-h-h!"
Of course, this did not happen every day, but it did happen, and each time, Cook in despair would say:
"Oh, this Cereal! It is amazing how it will not stay in the pan."
AS a rule, Cook was excited. Of course, there were plenty of reasons for her agitation. For instance, there was Kitty Moorka. He was a very beautiful cat and Cook loved him very much. In the morning, Moorka would follow at the Cook's heels and meow so pitifully that it would melt a heart of stone.
"Isn't your belly ever filled?" asked Cook, astonished, chasing the cat. "Just think of all that liver you ate last night."
"But that was yesterday," answeredMoorka, astonished in his turn. "To-day, I am hungry again. Meow."
"Why don't you catch mice ifyou'rehungry? Lazy! That's what you are!"
"Talking is very easy. I'd like to see you catch a mouse," Moorka defended himself. "However, I always try hard. Who caught a mouse last week? Who had a scratch the full length of his nose? That's the kind of rat I almost caught. Then she grabbed hold of my nose. It's easy to talk of catching mice. Indeed!"
After eating his liver, Moorka would sit somewhere near the stove where it was warm, close his eyes and doze sweetly.
"I hope you're full, now," said Cook. "Even your eyes are squinting. Well, you lie-on-your-side cat? Always meat, meat, meat!"
"I'm no vegetarian, you know. I can eat meat!" said Moorka, opening just oneeye. "You know I like fish too. It is really pleasant to eat fish, and up to this moment, I can't say which I like better, liver or fish. Out of politeness, I like both. If I were a man, I'd be either a fishman or the butcher-boy who brings us the liver. I'd feed all the cats from every corner of the earth, and I myself would always have my fill."
After eating, Moorka would grow interested in things going on around him, just by way of amusement. He would sit on the window where the starling's cage hung. It was pleasant to watch the foolish bird, hopping back and forth.
"I know you, you old rascal!" the starling would call to him. "You don't have to be watching me!"
"Perhaps I would like to make your acquaintance," said Moorka.
"Yes, I know how you make friends," said the starling. "Didn't I see you eat areal live baby sparrow? You disgusting brute!"
"I'm not at all disgusting. On the contrary, everybody loves me," said Moorka. "Come to me. I'll tell you a fairy tale."
"Oh, you rascal!" said the starling. "I know what a fine story-teller you are. Haven't I seen you tell stories to a roasted spring chicken stolen from the kitchen? I know you! You're a fine one!"
"Just as you like," said Moorka. "I was thinking only of your pleasure. As for that roasted spring chicken, I did eat him. But anyhow, he wasn't good for anything else."
EVERY morning, Moorka would sit near the stove and listen patiently to the quarreling of Little Milk and Little Cereal. He could never understandwhat it was all about and only blinked his eyes.
"I am Little Milk!"
"I am Little Cereal! Cereal! Cereal!"
"I can't understand a word of it. No, I don't understand it. Why are they angry? If I were to repeat, 'I'm a Cat! I'm a Cat! I'm a Cat!' could any one take offense at it? I can't understand it at all. However, I must confess I prefer Milk, especially when she isn't angry."
When they quarreled, Little Cereal and Little Milk would become so heated, they ran all over the stove. Then there arose a horrible smell. Cook would rush in, wringing her hands, and crying:
"Whatever shall I do now? I can never turn my head away without having something happen."
Setting Milk and Cereal aside, Cook went to market for provisions. Moorka at once made the best of this. He sat down close to Little Milk and said:
"Mistress Milk, please don't be angry."
Little Milk grew calmer as the cat watched her. Moorka walked around the spot several times, fixed his whiskers very gently and said:
"Listen, folks! It isn't nice to quarrel. Choose me for your judge and I'll settle your affairs very quickly."
The black roach, sitting in the crack of the wall, almost choked with laughter.
"A judge indeed! I must say! Ha! Ha! Ha! It took you to think of it, you old rascal."
But Little Milk and Little Cereal were very glad to have someone settle their quarrel at last, for they really did not know why they were quarreling or what it was all about.
"Very well. Very well. I'll unravelthis," said Kitty Moorka. "And I'll do it honestly. Let us begin with Milk."
He walked around the pot several times, touched Little Milk gently with his paw, blew upon her again and started lapping her up.
"Help Help!" shouted the black roach. "He will lap up all the milk and I will be blamed for it."
When Cook returned from market and looked for the milk, the pot was empty. Cat Moorka was sleeping sweetly near the stove as if nothing had happened.
"You good-for-nothing!" scolded Cook, pulling his ear. "Tell me, who drank the milk?"
It was very painful, but Moorka pretended not to understand anything. He had suddenly become speechless! Then he was thrown out of the kitchen.
Behind the door, he shook himself,smoothed his ruffled fur, curved his tail and said:
"If I were Cook, all the cats would drink milk day and night. However, I am not angry with my Cook, because this is something she can never really understand!"