Shining Hours

Teheran, the Persian cat, was dozing on a rug in the hall. Suddenly her hair stood on end, and her tail grew large. What-ever was that thing coming down-stairs? She had opened her eyes just in time to see at the head of the long flight of stairs some strange animal, with great eyes and long sharp teeth. To her horror, it slid quickly down stairs, directly toward her.

It did not take her long to run from the mat and dodge the fierce-looking animal. She turned to look, and there lay the four footed beast, just where she had lain. What could he be, and what was he doing in that house? There he lay quietly. Could he be asleep? Pussy-like, she crawled toward him, ready to spring if he stirred. She walked round him with her back up. No, he wasn’t asleep. His eyes were wide open. Was he lying in wait, ready to spring at her?

Round and round him she walked. Not an ear did he raise, not a whisker did he twitch, not an eyelid did he wink. What a curious fellow!

Had he died of heart disease coming down-stairs so fast? Her eyes opened wider. She pricked up her ears to listen. Not a breath could she hear. Poor fellow, he must be dead.

She grew bolder. She played with his paws, and she pulled his tail. She brushed by his side. How queer! No fat, no bones! She put one paw on his back, two paws, three paws, all four paws. How flat! no heart, no stomach, no insides at all. She sat down on him to think. What was he?

Many a day she thought about him; many a time she played with him; many an hour she watched him. But a puzzled cat she always remained.