She was dark gray--just the
color of a mouse. Her eyes were a yellowish green, and for the first few
days I was at the Morrises' they looked very unkindly at me. Then she
got over her dislike and we became very good friends. She was a
beautiful cat, and so gentle and affectionate that the whole family
loved her.
She was three years old, and she had come to Fairport in a vessel with
some sailors, who had gotten her in a far-away place. Her name was
Malta, and she was called a maltese cat.
I have seen a great many cats, but I never saw one as kind as Malta.
Once she had some little kittens and they all died. It almost broke her
heart. She cried and cried about the house till it made one feel sad to
hear her. Then she ran away to the woods. She came back with a little
squirrel in her mouth, and putting it in her basket, she nursed it like
a mother, till it grew old enough to run away from her.
She was a very knowing cat, and always came when she was called. Miss
Laura used to wear a little silver whistle that she blew when she wanted
any of her pets. It was a shrill whistle, and we could hear it a long
way from home.
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