house-front was there, and she slipped in between the rails as
the Dog overtook her. A woman in a window above shouted at the
Dog. Then the boys dropped a piece of cat-meat down to the
unfortunate; and Kitty had the most delicious meal of her life.
The stoop afforded a refuge. Under this she sat patiently till
nightfall came with quiet, then sneaked back like a shadow to her
old iron-yard.

Thus the days went by for two months. She grew in size and
strength and in an intimate knowledge of the immediate
neighborhood. She made the acquaintance of Downey Street, where
long rows of ash-cans were to be seen every morning. She formed
her own ideas of their proprietors. The big house was to her, not
a Roman Catholic mission, but a place whose garbage-tins abounded
in choicest fish scrapings. She soon made the acquaintance of the
meat-man, and joined in the shy fringe of Cats that formed the
outer circle. She also met the Wharf Dog as well as two or three
other horrors of the same class. She knew what to expect of them
and how to avoid them; and she was happy in being the inventor of
a new industry. Many thousand Cats have doubtless hung, in hope,
about the tempting milk-cans that the early milk-man leaves on
steps and window-ledges, and it was by the merest accident that
Kitty found one with a broken lid, and so was taught to raise it
and have a satisfying drink. Bottles, of course, were beyond her,
but many a can has a misfit lid, and Kitty was very painstaking
in her efforts to discover the loose-jointed ones. Finally she
extended her range by exploration till she achieved the heart of
the next block, and farther, till once more among the barrels and
boxes of the yard behind the bird-man's cellar.