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LETTERS FROM A CAT.
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could be moved, before she comes back. After awhile that ugly Irish woman, who lives in Mr. Slater's house, came into the back gate: you know the one I mean,—the one that threw cold water on me last spring. When I saw her coming I felt sure that she and Mary meant to kill me, while you were all away; so I jumped down out of the tree, and split my best claw in my hurry, and ran off into Baker's Grove, and stayed there all the rest of the day, in dreadful misery from cold and hunger. There was some snow in the hollows, and I wet my feet, which always makes me feel wretchedly;
