My name is Kitty. If you ask, “Who gave you that name?” I am sure I could not tell you.

I hardly know where I was born, but they told me that I first saw the light in a wood-shed. I never remember my father, but I have very happy memories of my kind, gentle, gracious, good mother. Her name was Fluffy. There were four of us altogether—I mean four kitten-babies—and I was the youngest—at least, so I was told.

I was only about three weeks old when a great sorrow came into my life. One morning a big, burly, but ever so kind gentleman came to the wood-shed and said something about his pretty daughter, who had recently “gone to housekeeping,” and that, being alone all day, she would dearly love to have a bright little kitten for company. And I was chosen, so off I had to go.

I was taken gently by the neck and lifted into what looked like an egg-basket, and in a few minutes I was brought to a sweet little home. I fell in love with my new mistress at first sight, and as for my new master, he treated me ever so kindly, and I learned to love him very sincerely.

I had never tasted milk—in fact, I didn’t know what it was, whether it was blue, grey, white, brown, or red.

Soon after my arrival my new mistress (who bore the sweet name of Lily) brought me some white liquid in a saucer. I wondered what it was. As she watched and waited, I did the same. At last she took my wee little head in her long, thin, white hand and dipped it in the white liquid. I thought it was rude. My mouth, nose, and lips being covered with the white stuff, I quickly licked it off. What else could I do?

When I tasted the fluid I found out how nice it was, and began to lap it up at a great rate. Then it was I found out it was milk she had given me. I got quite fond of it, and had a regular supply night and morning. And I always said “Thank you, ma’am,” by giving a gentle purr.

Then at dinner-time my young master, Mr. Fred, gave me some choice, dainty bits off his plate, which I greatly enjoyed.

When I arrived at this pretty cottage, I was so small, I looked just like a bundle of grey worsted; but day by day I was getting bigger, fatter, and nicer-looking—I was indeed. Don’t think I’m vain—I’m not; but when a sweet young mistress says “Pretty Kitty” twenty-seven times every day, what can I think but that I am a fascinating, good-looking little puss?

Soon after my home-coming, another big sorrow came into my kitten life. My dear young mistress was taken seriously ill, and had to go to bed—and stay there. The doctor was called, and came nearly every day. I was nearly broken-hearted, and every chance I got I rushed upstairs, so as to tell, in my simple, loving way, how sorry I was for all the trouble that had come to my dearest earthly friend. I sprang on to the bed, walked over the counterpane, and reached the white pillow on which lay the head of my sweet young mistress. I purred very gently, rubbed my nose against her cheek, and said, in the best possible way (to a kitten), “How sorry I am! Do make haste and get well again; I do miss you so!”

Once or twice I’m afraid I woke her out of a sweet sleep, but how should I know she was asleep? Nobody told me. So I was seized by my neck, and put out of the room a good many times. But every time the kind nurse opened the door, I rushed in again, sprang on the bed, and said, “I’m so sorry,” ever so many times. And sometimes, in the dark night, or early hours of the morning, I would creep up to the bedroom door, and cry as loudly as I could.

At last a crisis came, and to me it was a big crisis—my third trouble, and I was only six weeks old! I was to be sent away, because I was so troublesome. I thought it was very, very hard, and I cried about it for three and three-quarter minutes, and thirteen long seconds after that. Wherever was I to be sent?

One evening a tall, kindly-looking gentleman came to our house, and my young master said to him, “Father, can you take charge of Kitty for a few days, until Lily gets better?”

“All right, my boy,” was the cheery reply. I liked his voice and manner. My fears were soon set at rest, for I felt sure he would make my short visit as cosy and comfortable as he possibly could. A few minutes later he took me up by my neck, laid me gently on his arm, and took me out into the dark and stormy night. But I wasn’t afraid, not one little bit, for all the way my new master kept saying, “Poor little Kitty.” But it was the way he said it that made such an impression on me.

We had not far to go—only about three minutes’ walk. My new home was, if possible, even better than the one I’d left—so cosy-comfy like. Having had my supper, I lay down on the hearthrug before a big fire, and was soon fast asleep. But I got a rude awakening, and nine times as big a fright!

I had only been asleep about a quarter of an hour when I felt something cold touching my nose. I wondered what on earth it was. Looking up, I saw a big Tom-cat staring at me wildly and jealously. He seemed to say, “What are you doing here? Don’t you know you’re sleeping in my place? This is my home, not yours!”

I sprang to my feet and faced Impy. He was a big, black fellow, eight or ten times as big as I was, with eyes flashing like automobile lights. And yet, strange to say, I wasn’t a bit afraid, that is, not after the first startling. I stared at him, put my little back up, and spat at him—real hard! Yes, and I frightened him too, for after a low growl he turned away, scowling at me, and went off to the kitchen to tell Nellie, the maid, all about me. So I lay down to sleep again, and enjoyed a good night’s rest.

The next day I had another fright. At my new home lived a big collie dog, called Bunty, and the next morning I had to be introduced. Bunty and I were soon fast friends. Instead of scowling at me as Impy had done, he came and looked at me ever so kindly, and kissed me, as if to say, “I like the looks of you; let’s be friends.” And we were, all the time I stayed there. He often gave me warm kiss-licks, and loved to have me play with his long, shaggy tail, climb over his back, and lie by his side and purr.

It was very nice, and I shall love Bunty all the days of my life. If ever I get married—and I don’t see why I shouldn’t—I shall dearly love to have Bunty come and stay with us, and make his visit as long as he possibly can. He will always be a welcome guest.

But one day I nearly lost his love and affection. It came about in this way. Wandering in the kitchen one day, early after dinner, I saw Bunty busy enjoying a mutton-bone feast. I did long for a bit. So I made a dash for Bunty’s bone, yes, and I got it, too! Off I ran into the dining-room with the bone in my mouth, the big collie chasing me. How I managed to carry it I don’t know, for the bone was nearly as big as I was. I hid, but Bunty found me, and got his bone; the wonder is, he didn’t bite me for being so greedy. As it was, he only growled, and was ever so kind and forgiving—later on.

I soon found out that my new master was a big tease. He used to tumble me over on my back and tickle me so earnestly, I had to scratch and bite him real hard, so as to defend myself. But he did not seem to mind—not he!

One night I got lost. When the front door was opened I ran out into the road and had a merry scamper. I tried to find my way back, but couldn’t. What was I to do? It was a cold, bitter night, and I was a stranger in those parts. Still, I felt I ought to do my best. So I ran up to what I thought was my new master’s front door and cried. A kind little girl let me in, and I soon found I was in the wrong house. I did not mind that so much, so long as I had got in somewhere. They were very kind to me, gave me some milk, and said “Pretty Pussy” a good many times.

The next morning Nellie, the maid, called over the garden wall, “Has a stray kitten come to your house?”

“Yes,” replied the little girl, Kathleen. “Do you want her?”

Of course they did, and soon I was safely lodged at Jasmine Villa. But when my dear young mistress got well, I joyfully went back, and said how grateful I was to get home again.