THE THREE CATS

        A very curious thing happened to me at half-past four, 
yesterday.  Three visitors came knocking at my door, begging me 
to let them in. And when I opened the door, who do you think they
were?
        You'll never guess.
	Why, they were three cats! Wasn't it curious? However, they 
all looked so cross and disagreeable that I took up the first thing 
I could lay my hand on (which happened to be the rolling-pin) and 
knocked them all down as flat as pancakes!
	That was fair, wasn't it?
	Of course I didn't leave them lying flat on the ground, like 
dried flowers: no, I picked them up, and I was as kind as I could 
be to them. I lent them the portfolio for a bed--they wouldn't have 
been comfortable in a real bed, you know: they were too thin--but 
they were quite happy between the sheets of blotting-paper--
and each of them had a pen-wiper for a pillow. Well, then I went to 
bed: but first I lent them the three dinner-bells to ring if they 
wanted anything in the night.
	You know I have three dinner-bells--the first (which 
is the largest) is rung when dinner is nearly ready; the second 
(which is rather larger) is rung when it is quite ready; and the third
(which is as the other two put together) is rung all the time I am at
dinner. And I told them they must ring if they happened to want anything.
And, as they rung all the bells all night, I suppose they
did want something or other, only I was too sleepy to attend to them.
	In the morning I gave them some rat-tail jelly and buttered 
mice for breakfast and they were as discontented as they could be. And, 
do you know, when I had gone out for a walk, they got all my 
books out of the bookcase, and opened them at page 50, because they 
thought that would be a nice useful page to begin at. It was rather
unfortunate, though: because they took my bottle of gum and tried to 
gum pictures upon the ceiling (which they thought would please me). 
They accidentally spilt a quantity of it all over the books. So when 
they were shut up and put by, the leaves all stuck together, and I can
never read page 50 again in any of them! 
	However, they meant it very kindly, so i wasn't angry. I gave 
them each a spoonful of ink as a treat; but they were ungrateful for 
that and made the most dreadful faces. But, of course, as it was given
them for a treat, they had to drink it. One of them has turned black
since: it was a white cat to begin with.
	They wanted some boiled pelican, but, of course, I know it 
wouldn't be good for them. So all I said was "Go to Agnes Hughes, 
and if it's really good for you she'll give you some."
	Then I shook hands with them all, and wished them good-bye, 
and drove them up the chimney. They seemed very sorry to go.

April 12, 2003