Sally in her fur coat

Now that Sally was used to the radio, she took a good deal of pleasure in it, in fact on very cold days she enjoyed it more than Miss Winifred did, for the parlor was a large room and the piano, where the radio stood, was between two long glass doors that let in a good deal of air through the cracks in winter weather. Sally, with her sharp ears, could hear every word the loud speaker said when she sat on her register in the opposite corner of the room. Sally knew that it was her own register, for there was another in the room. This one in the corner was often closed, so that Sally could lie there at her ease and feel just a pleasant warmth. Miss Winifred, who did not have a fur coat like Sally, had to walk up near the loud speaker and she was cold in that corner even with a sweater on. Yes, there were many advantages in being a cat, Sally thought. It was fine to have perfect sight and not to have to wear eye-glasses and to be so small you could lie on a register, and hear every word the loud speaker said. But people had no choice; perhaps many of them like herself would prefer to be cats.

This New Year’s Eve she was especially interested in the sermon Miss Winifred was hearing. It seemed made on purpose for cats, for it spoke of the grace and gayety of a young kitten chasing its tail. Sally pricked up her ears at this. She liked the minister, whoever he might be. He understood something about life. He went on to say how sympathy should be given to all young things. There was a part Sally did not quite understand, and then she was struck by these words: ‘The beginning of the New Year is a good time to make resolutions, but every day is the beginning of a new year, we do not have to wait.’ Sally was glad of this, for a year was so very long to a cat. However, as there was to be a year beginning, it seemed a good time to make resolutions. She talked the matter over with Oxford afterward.

‘One of your resolutions, I should say, ought to be to brace up,’ said he.

‘Yes,’ said Sally meekly, ‘that is one.’

‘I should think,’ he added, somewhat scornfully, ‘that it was about time you caught a mouse.’

‘Yes, that is another of my resolutions,’ said she.

‘I have a few in mind,’ said Oxford. ‘I mean to give Peter the biggest thrashing he has ever had.’

‘And I surely will catch a mouse sometime, I promise you I will,’ said Sally.

‘I don’t think it at all probable,’ he said dryly. ‘You’ll have to learn to brace up first.’

It was springtime before the great event occurred. Every day in the new year Sally had remembered the words of the preacher. She said them over and over to herself every morning, ‘Each day is the beginning of a new year,’ and every morning she had said to herself, ‘I will try to catch a mouse before the day is over.’

Sally thought there were other things in life that were as important as bracing up. Was not patience equally commendable? And how about unselfishness? Would Oxford ever have the patience to sit for hours at a mouse-hole? Would he ever let her take a part of his food? But Oxford was a wonderful cat, a dream to look at compared with her, with his pink nose and his expansive white shirt-front. She had a tiger face and small white shirt-front, and even if patience and perseverance were rewarded at last and she caught her mouse, she could never be a mighty hunter. But he, with his rough ways, was never allowed in the parlor and she was. After all, life had its compensations.

All the same, Sally longed to catch a mouse.

The exciting event took place when Miss Winifred and Elvira had gone on their usual spring visit to New Hampshire. And it did not happen at all as Sally thought it would. It was early in the morning. Miss Harvey, Sally, and Oxford were alone in the house. Miss Harvey had made the kitchen fire, and put the tea-kettle on the stove. Oxford was just waking up and stretching himself. Sally, who was wide awake, saw a mouse glide past her on the freshly scrubbed kitchen floor. She darted forward and seized the mouse. She had it firmly in her mouth. It was still alive, but she knew it could not escape. Oxford roused himself. Sally looked at him with triumph in her eyes. ‘See what I have caught. Didn’t I tell you I would catch a mouse?’ she seemed to say.

Oxford dashed forward angrily and knocked the mouse out of Sally’s mouth. Sally had never been so angry in her life. Miss Harvey, hearing the commotion, turned just before Oxford had reached Sally. She saw what happened. The mouse was flying along the kitchen floor toward the outside door. Miss Harvey thought it most provoking of Oxford.

‘Poor dear,’ she said to Sally, ‘it was your mouse.’

Sally was glad some one understood.

Miss Harvey opened the kitchen door that led into the passageway and then the outside door. Her sympathies were divided between Sally and the mouse. Poor tiny creature! It looked so frightened, and, after all, it probably enjoyed its life as much as Sally liked hers. But if that wretched Oxford got the mouse, Miss Harvey felt there was no justice to be looked for in this world. When she opened the door, she saw the mouse scurrying down the steps, and Sally and Oxford following after each other, tumbling down the steps in hot pursuit. It was as exciting as any race she had ever seen. Sally for once lost her temper as the mouse disappeared from view. She did not say all she thought. She said only a part of it, but Oxford was so astonished by what she did say that she seemed a different Sally in his eyes.

After she had spoken her vehement words, she returned to the house. Oxford felt taken down for the moment, but he soon rose to the occasion.

‘It was a sort of an accident your catching that mouse,’ he said. ‘Anybody can catch a mouse if it goes just where they are.’

Sally was already beginning to cool down.

‘Not everybody,’ she said. ‘Miss Harvey has told me more than once that she never caught a mouse in her life.’