Anyhow, with this, down went McGinty's hope of a bird breakfast "to the
bottom of the sea," and he gave up the hunt. He soon made friends,
however, with every animal on the place, and so endeared himself to the
owners that he lived out his days there with a hundred acres and more as
his own happy hunting-ground.

Not so, the Pretty Lady. I went away on a short visit after a few weeks,
leaving her behind. From the moment of my disappearance she was uneasy
and unhappy. On the fifth day she disappeared. When I returned and found
her not, I am not ashamed to say that I hunted and called her
everywhere, nor even that I shed a few tears when days rolled into weeks
and she did not appear, as I realized that she might be starving, or
have suffered tortures from some larger animal.

There are many remarkable stories of cats who find their way home across
almost impossible roads and enormous distances. There is a saying,
believed by many people, "You can't lose a cat," which can be proved by
hundreds of remarkable returns. But the Pretty Lady had absolutely no
sense of locality. She had always lived indoors and had never been
allowed to roam the neighborhood. It was five weeks before we found
trace of her, and then only by accident. My sister was passing a field
of grain, and caught a glimpse of a small creature which she at first
thought to be a woodchuck. She turned and looked at it, and called
"Pussy, pussy," when with a heart-breaking little cry of utter delight
and surprise, our beloved cat came toward her. From the first, the wide
expanse of the country had confused her; she had evidently "lost her
bearings" and was probably all the time within fifteen minutes' walk of
the farm-house.