"Not a drop of milk have I had this day!" said the gray cat; "and such a
pain in my side!"

"But what," said Growler, "what is the cause?"

"Haven't I told you?" said the gray cat, pettishly; "it's her
temper:--oh, what I have had to suffer from it! Everything she breaks
she lays to me; everything that is stolen she lays to me. Really, it is
quite unbearable!"

Growler was quite indignant; but, being of a reflective turn, after the
first gust of wrath had passed, he asked: "But was there no particular
cause this morning?"

"She chose to be very angry because I--I offended her," said the cat.

"How, may I ask?" gently inquired Growler.

"Oh, nothing worth telling,--a mere mistake of mine."

Growler looked at her with such a questioning expression, that she was
compelled to say, "I took the wrong thing for my breakfast."

"Oh!" said Growler, much enlightened.

"Why, the fact is," said the gray cat, "I was springing at a mouse, and
knocked down a dish, and, not knowing exactly what it was, I smelt it,
and it was rather nice, and--"

"You finished it," hinted Growler.