still stood with little change, and the Royal Analostan retired
to that. She knew some of its trails; but once there, was
unpleasantly surprised to find the place swarming with Cats that,
like herself, were driven from their old grounds, and when the
garbage-cans came out there were several Slummers at each. It
meant a famine in the land, and Pussy, after standing it a few
days, was reduced to seeking her other home on Fifth Avenue. She
got there to find it shut up and deserted. She waited about for a
day; had an unpleasant experience with a big man in a blue coat,
and next night returned to the crowded slum.

September and October wore away. Many of the Cats died of
starvation or were too weak to escape their natural enemies. But
Kitty, young and strong, still lived.

Great changes had come over the ruined blocks. Though silent on
the night when she first saw them, they were crowded with noisy
workmen all day. A tall building, well advanced on her arrival,
was completed at the end of October, and Slum Kitty, driven by
hunger, went sneaking up to a pail that a negro had set outside.
The pail, unfortunately, was not for garbage; it was a new thing
in that region: a scrubbing-pail. A sad disappointment, but it
had a sense of comfort--there were traces of a familiar touch on
the handle. While she was studying it, the negro elevator-boy
came out again. In spite of his blue clothes, his odorous person
confirmed the good impression of the handle. Kitty had retreated
across the street. He gazed at her.

"Sho ef dat don't look like de Royal Ankalostan! Hyar, Pussy,
Pussy, Pu-s-s-s-s-y! Co-o-o-o-m-e, Pu-u-s-s-sy, hyar! I'spec's